My Dirty Little Secret
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Night Stalker 2005. New episodes. Carl Kolchak has a secret, and it frightens him. Please R&R. Rated for safety and some laguage.
1. Prologue: Secrets

My Dirty Little Secret

Author: Stealth Dragon

Show: Night Stalker

Disclaimer: Consarnit! I don't own this. Never have never will. And yes, I did get the title from the All American Rejects song (which is not mine either) but titles cannot be copyrighted or we would all be in trouble. It would help if you listened to the song and got it stuck in you head while reading this story. Would make it more interesting.

Synopsis: Carl Kolchak has a secret, and it frightens him.

A/N: Hmmmm, I hope others do Night Stalker stories as well. I really love the show, but only know the new episodes, not the old ones from the seventies. I like how creepy Kolchak is. Good guys rarely get to be creepy, and still remain very cool and likable.

This story will begin in first person, kind of like the show, but then will move into third in the next chapter. Just a warning. It is also a 'what-if' story, kind of my own little theory that I doubt to be true but is fun all the same. I've been wanting to do a story like this for some time, and Night Stalker just gave me the means. For those of you reading my Numbers fic, I'm still on it, I just need a little time to plan the end out perfectly. I like all my stories to end with a bang.

Prologue

_Dirty secret. Now that sounds wrong, doesn't it? What comes to mind when someone says they have a dirty little secret? Something deviant, immoral, something that – in all truth – you don't want to know anything about, but can't turn away from all the same. So maybe the term 'dirty secret' shouldn't really apply to me. Saying it out loud, or typing it down... makes it sound like I actually killed my wife. But that's exactly what people would think if I told them I had a 'dirty little secret.' _

_Two reasons to tell a secret: as a means of gaining attention, or to confess. Don't mistake me for someone who loves the spotlight. I've had enough attention in my life, I don't need anymore. So where does that leave me exactly? With a confession, an unburdening of my soul. _

_Here's the problem: I use the term 'dirty little secret' for a reason, even if my word choice might be a little questionable. It's not dirty in terms of ethics... at least I don't think it is. Think of it more along the lines of a dirty bomb, that should it go off would shatter the last refraining fragments of my life and taint whatever was left so it could never be recovered. No one would believe me, not without proof, so they would think me crazy. _

_But they already do. The difference is, they would think me crazy enough to drag me off to the psyche ward. Lock me up where I'm sure half of everyone at the office thinks I belong. But you can't blame them, not really. I mean, come on – if I hadn't of seen what I had that night on the road, if I didn't have a mutilated Gumby swinging from my rear view mirror, smiling at me like nothing happened despite a ragged, absent lower half – hearing someone else talk the way I do, I'd be on the "he's a wack-job" band wagon too, whispering and staring with all the rest._

_Lucky for me, that night on the highway, and waking up to find her... in blood... made me rather numb to all else. I've got better things to do then listen to the whispers and distant laughter at my expense. _

_I think you're starting to see what I'm getting at though. My dirty little secret is fuel to the fire, the final straw, not to mention an end to my career, my existence as I know it._

_But this secret, it scares me. Not petrifying terror, no, but it does make me uneasy if I happen to think about it, wonder if I should tell someone. Secrets are not meant to be kept. They tend to eat away at the soul, the mind. They hunt you and forever catch up to you, waiting in the wings for the right moment, the moment of unintentional revelation. And by unintentional revelation I mean someone finding out on accident, which is probably worse than not telling. Then they would know it was true. _

_What would follow after? What would need to be done? Something else to worry about. Perri, she might understand. She's seen glimpses of what I've seen, even if she'd rather cling to the reasonable. Jain, I don't know the guy that well, but he's a little more open then Perri, more ready to believe and accept. If it came down to having to tell, needing to, they would be the ones. Hell, they'd probably be the only ones. But only if it came down to it._

_I'd like to confess, because I'm worried. But I'm worried more about the reactions, with or without proof. All people react differently, and either way, I don't know what I would do if the response had me ostracized. I may need help, but I can't afford losing the only friends I have, the only people I trust._

_Maybe I'm jumping the gun. Maybe it's nothing, and I'm giving in to dark conclusions. _

_I doubt it._

_So what do I do?_

_NNNNNNNN_

TBC

A/N: More to come, I promise.


	2. Mind Over Matter

A/N: _Stuart_ Townsend, got it.

Ch. 1

Carl Kolchak stared through the massive office windows at the winding freeway clogged with traffic. It gave him the impression of an endless snake, like that one in Norse legend supposedly wrapped around the world. The cars that formed the scales glittered and moved with the methodical sluggishness of an actual snake – the Norse snake continually winding around and around, hugging the world to death or protecting it like a beloved egg; Carl hadn't decided yet.

Watching the traffic was a pastime for his eyes when he had to think. It was better than staring at a computer screen and a monotonously blinking cursor.

The only setback was the hypnotic effect it kept trying to have on him. He felt his eyelids grow heavy more than once, and his mind become incoherent in its machinations. Kolchak rubbed the heel of his hands in both eyes, massaging the muscles and trying to get them to tear up and relieve him of the dryness. Finally, giving up on trying to think at all, he swiveled his chair around.

Perri Reed was standing there, grinning at him, carrying a thick file in her arms.

" Wow," she said. " Don't you look all bright and chipper."

Carl smiled at her sarcasm. When it came to being irked, he was pretty much immune. But at the moment, his brain refused to process a witty reply.

" Bad night?" Perri asked.

Carl rested one arm on his desk, picking up a pen and tapping it tunelessly against the keyboard. " You could say that."

Perri shook her head and made a hissing sound between her teeth. " Only have yourself to blame. Being nocturnal and getting up at dawn is not a healthy lifestyle, Kolchak."

Carl still held his smile, despite the slight ache in his limbs and back. " Funny you should say that. I've actually been going to bed before two in the morning." Though 'bed', in this case, was a misnomer. Carl had been more or less crashing on the couch for the past couple of days. Normally, staying up wasn't a problem for him as long as he caught three or four hours of rest a night. Yes, outwardly he appeared mellow and stoic, but inside he always had energy to spare. Way too much to do to sleep.

Then things had unintentionally altered.

" So, then, why the bags under your eyes?"

Carl shrugged. " Bad dreams."

Again, a misnomer. They weren't so much bad as strange, inexplicable.

Perri's expression softened, her grin lessening into a slight smile. " Want to talk about it?"

If Carl hadn't already been smiling, he would have. Perri Reed – relentless reporter by day, caring human being the rest of the time.

They had met under negative circumstances when they had been forced to work on a story together because Carl had snagged it first, despite Perri's claim to it. But unusual occurrences, strange and frightening, had practically stomped that negativity into the dust. Perri was an iron hard skeptic when it came to many of Kolchak's theories, and tended to be biting about it, but Carl had yet to hold it against her. She was only beginning to witness the things Karl had seen, and reason and logic tended to be difficult to let go of, especially for a reporter. It wasn't that Carl wanted to bring her around to his way of thinking, but he did want her to start being a little more open-minded.

At least she was patient with him.

Carl stopped tapping his pen, averting his gaze to the computer screen and the incessantly blinking cursor.

" Not really." He then leaned forward, planting his elbows on his desk and rubbing the side of his face with one hand. " Got something you want to show me?"

Perri glanced at the files, then handed them to Kolchak. " Nothing I would label as bedtime reading. Our story isn't an isolated incident. Officer McMallon brought them over. You know, the guy that kept looking at you funny when you made the comment about shape-shifting?"

Carl dropped the file on the desk and opened it, turning the pages one at a time. " He didn't consider I might have been kidding around?"

" Were you?"

Carl looked up at her, still all smiles. " What do you think?"

Perri rolled her eyes. " You know, you really should be a little more subtle with your questions like – you know – the one about shape-shifting, then the one about turning invisible? I mean do you really expect people to just up and believe you when you talk about stuff like that?"

" I like to look at it as keeping all possibilities open, that's all."

Perri snorted out a derisive laugh. " Is that what you call it?"

Carl looked up at her, meeting her gaze and holding it. " What would you call it?"

She was grinning again, then pursed her lips and shook her head. Kolchak grinned back. He had her there, he always had her there, but she would never speak any of the words out loud. Both out of etiquette and the fact that she didn't entirely believe it, not anymore.

Insane, stupid, weird; he'd heard them all muttered behind his back. But like sarcastic remarks, they had yet to burrow under his skin.

There were times, small moments when he was able to just sit and let his mind wander, when he thought the same things. A lot more lately late.

A shiver ran through him, but too quick for Perri to see. He felt cold, mostly due to a lack of better circulation resulting from a sluggish body still craving sleep. He'd been getting sleep, but his body refused to realize this. In all reality Kolchak couldn't call what he was doing sleep; not if it was leaving him in this painful half zombie state.

Carl looked back at the file and continued flipping through the police reports and newspaper clippings. Page after page was nothing but murder. One article, dated 1975, was of a woman killed in the middle of the day in her own home while her family was present. None of them had seen a thing, just found her mutilated body in the bathroom. Each family member was suspected say for the three year old, but no arrests made. Another article was of a ten year old girl found murdered on a subway in 1980, and no one had witnessed a thing. A police report, however, had it that the killer had been holding the child up with a knife in her back, and set her in the seat she was found in when he left. A suspect was arrested, a twenty-five year old male who had the murder weapon in the pocket of his coat, though he insisted he hadn't done it according to another article.

The cases were all the same; deaths happening in broad daylight, with witnesses aplenty, all having seen and heard nothing. One case wasn't even a murder but a kidnapping of a ten month old, when everyone was at home, and the baby was in the living room, playing in a playpen. Supposedly, the kidnapper had been waiting in the backyard and slipped in through the sliding doors when no one was around. The incident had taken place only four years ago.

" See, it's not unheard of for someone to creep in unnoticed," Perri said. " It's just ours is the first that involves a serial killing."

Carl continued turning each page over. The deaths were nasty, vicious, but nothing compared to the present situation.

Someone, a man age twenty-five to fifty according to profilers, was going on a rather gruesome killing spree. The first case involved a woman, thirty-seven, making dinner for her family all gathered in the living room watching a movie. Her son had been the one to find her sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, dissected like a cadaver with her heart torn from her chest.

Carl had met the kid, and had been the only one able to talk to him about it. After all, Kolchak, of all people, could actually claim true sympathy for the kid. He knew what it was like, finding someone he loved butchered and bloody. Sometimes the image slipped into his dreams. One of the reasons he preferred being nocturnal.

They'd been slipping in a lot more the past couple of days, leaving behind both a physical and mental ache that wouldn't leave.

Other cases soon followed. Another housewife and mother, a grandmother, a daughter, a woman's only child, a husband, someone's sister. Recently, a cousin who had been like a sister, last seen at a bar but found out in the desert where a group of college kids were having an bonfire kegger. The profiler on the case chalked the killings up to having to do with taking away a loved one – taking away love - thus the removed hearts. Either the killer had lost someone and wanted others to share his pain, or had never experienced love and was jealous of it.

What had caught Carl's attention to the deaths was the manner in which the killer did his work; right under everyone's nose. Again, broad daylight, and witnesses aplenty. But when Carl had talked to the boy, the kid confessed to having heard and seen nothing, and he had said it with uncontained guilt - as though it was all his fault. Again, something else Carl could relate to. Death always left the living beating themselves up over the idea that they could have done something.

Or wishing they had died as well, just so they could stop feeling the pain.

For Carl, the desire hadn't lasted long. The need for answers had outweighed the need for the pain to end. The pain was still there, it still hurt, but it was more a motivating force now, pushing and prodding him to seek the truths most tried to pretend didn't exist. And in turn, the pain would fall to the back of his mind, becoming a numbed presence. Only for a time, though. When all was said and done, it would come slinking back in for more pushing and prodding, being the constant reminder that it was.

At least it wasn't constant, period.

When Carl finished, he closed the file and pushed it away.

" Profiler's thinking," Perri said, " is that the guy stalks his victims, watches their every move plus the moves of the family, and plots out opportunities to attack while the family is present but not able to witness anything."

Kolchak nodded, then reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out three stapled sheets of paper, handing them to Perri. She glanced over the printed story, scrunching her brow and shaking her head.

" What's this?"

" Real bedtime reading. You know the expression mind over matter?"

Perri continued to peruse the article. " Yeah?"

" Well, that pretty much sums up what you're looking at. It's about a guy who was able to walk into the home of a consulate just by saying his name over and over. The guards actually thought he was the consulate, and let him in, no questions asked."

As expected, Perri peered over the pages, arching an eyebrow at him. She then lowered the article and gave him another straight-on incredulous stare.

" What are you saying? That our killer is able to slice these people open while everyone's home through some mind-meld that would make Spoc jealous?"

" Well, putting it that way makes it sound ridiculous..."

Perri dropped the papers back on his desk. " Carl, putting it any way would make it sound ridiculous..."

" But think about it," Carl continued, unabated. " It's no different from hypnotism, and we've both seen how dangerous that can be."

Perri just rolled her eyes, turning as though to go only to turn back; body language for 'please don't go there again, Carl.' Half the time, Perri didn't have to say a thing. Carl could read her like a children's book.

And, as usual, Kolchak was undeterred. " All the guy would have to do was get the name of her husband or one of her children, and repeat it over and over. Maybe concentrating on their faces, I don't know. But if a man can get into a heavily secured facility, then he can – probably even more easily – get into a small suburban home. It would explain why no one was heard screaming and there were no signs of a struggle."

Perri gave Carl a heavy-lidded look. " Well, all Vulcan voo-doo aside, we really need to go talk to the cousin of the last victim."

Carl nodded, then was hit by a wave of weariness. Suddenly, the prospect of having to get up and move around sounded too much. He took a deep breath and let it out quickly, waiting for the heaviness in his body to pass. He lowered his eyes to the keyboard, then rubbed the side of his face again.

" Kolchak, all kidding aside, you really look like hell. Just how bad is this dream? Why can't you talk about it?" Perri asked.

Carl looked up, but not at Perri. Not at anything, in fact, as his eyes decided to momentarily lose focus.

" Because I don't know what they're about."

NSNSNSNS

A/N: the story about the guy walking into the heavily guarded facility is, supposedly true, but I couldn't remember the details. I heard about it when I was in school and found it a fascinating concept. If you know the full story, feel free to tell it.

This chapter's just an intro into half of the plot. Things will get much more interesting in the next chapter.


	3. Not Fair

Ch. 2

He stares down at her. Sprawled in the dirt, body buffeted by sand clinging to hair, clothes, blood. The gaping hole in her guts, black as a pit with congealed blood. So much blood.

Her eyes stare open and fixed on the sky. In life, people have a light in their eyes. Call it awareness, intelligence, a soul. Whatever it is, it's a light. But hers is gone, and her eyes are empty because her body is empty. Two lives are gone though, but he had never seen the eyes of that second life. He'd never been given the chance.

His family gone faster than he could blink.

There is blood on him, he can smell it. He can feel the pain of a slash on his shoulder. But its overshadowed by his desire to be sick...

_Cooommmmmeee..._

Carl snaps his head up. He hears the whisper on the wind, rising to utter one intelligible word, then decreasing into hiss-like gibberish. It sounds like many voices when it babbles, but a single voice when it breathes its single word.

_Ca-rl..._

It doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound human. More like something learning to speak for the first time, testing the pronunciation of letters on the tongue, exploring the possibilities that vocal cords hold.

Cold shoots down Carl's spine to go crashing through his veins. He shivers.

The desert stretches from horizon to horizon. But that can't be right. There had been plateaus, hills, and the empty highway at his back. He looks around, dazed by confusion. Then he looks around frantically. His eyes drop inadvertently to the ground. But she's gone. The only piece of her left – a bloody stain in the sand.

_Ca-rl... Ca-rl...? _

The gibberish whisperings become laugh-like chitters.

_C-ooommmmeeee. _

Carl begins walking. He's curious, drawn. He wants to know. That's all he wants. He feels the answers to be out there, over that horizon, at where the voices drift in from. He can feel the promises they hold though they do not speak them. Answers, clarity, certainty.

An end to nightmares. Freedom. The possibility of being something greater.

_Ca-rl..._

He can hear the voices more clearly, calling his name. He can hear everything. The heart beat of a mouse, the scrape of a beetle across the sand, the distant wing beats of an owl. He can even hear his own heart, resonating like a drum, steady despite the adrenaline beginning to burn through him. Night is coming, the sun is setting, and he can still see everything, down to the smallest crack in a fist-sized stone. He can smell too. The mouse, the owl, insects, coyotes...

Blood. Thick, metallic blood.

Carl stops. He hates the smell of blood. It always reminds him of...

He looks down. She's there again, he can see her in the dark. The hole in her is bleeding, the pit that was once a womb and holding something precious.

Life.

It was all gone now.

Sickened rage fills Carl, swelling in his chest, making his heart hammer until it hurts. He begins trembling in rage, in sorrow, in hatred.

_Ca-rl. Ca-arl. Caaarrrrllll!_

Carl refuses to move. The promises, the need for answers, for an end to what he knows, are pulling at him. But he won't move, not as long as she is lying there. He will not leave her.

But he wants answers. He wants them so badly...

NSNSNSNSNSNS

Carl snapped his eyes open, arching his back and sucking in a long, sharp breath until his lungs had no more room to expand and his ribcage felt ready to split. He then dropped back onto the couch, releasing the breath slowly, letting it take the tension with it. But it didn't stop the mad pounding of his heart.

He was wide awake, but stayed where he was, lying on his back on the couch and staring up at the gray-dawn touched ceiling. He closed his eyes, sighing in another bout of relief, and could already feel his heart returning to normal rhythms.

Okay, this was different, he had to admit. Most of the dreams had him snapping awake and sitting upright, not snapping awake and gasping for breath. He'd never had problems with sleep apneia before, but the moment he had pulled himself from the dream, his lungs were practically screaming at him for air.

_Time to start worrying, maybe?_ He thought. _People shouldn't have to worry about suffocating in their sleep._

Carl closed his eyes for a moment. He shifted, only to wince at the pain in his joints and muscles. It felt as though he had run countless miles and lifted a steady stream of heavy objects. He was sore to the point that the thought of moving made him shudder, but knew that once he got going, the stronger flow of blood would relieve the stiffness.

He sat up with a grimace as the muscles of his back pulled and protested. His back popped, but not in comfortable way.

Obviously, something needed to change, such as catching himself before he crashed on the couch. He had a bed, probably covered in dust from neglect by now.

Kolchak moved to plant his feet on the carpeted floor, grimacing again. The air of the house was cold, which was no surprise since desert nights could get freezing when they wanted to, especially during this time of year.

So if his subconscious insisted on moving his body to the couch, he could at least snag a blanket along the way. There were a few tucked in a drawer behind the couch.

Carl lowered his head, stretching his neck until it also popped, but in a more comfortable way compared to what his spine had done. He was about to tilt his head to the side for another pop, but paused.

He couldn't even begin to count the number of times he had fallen asleep on the couch, not to mention the desk which was a heck of a lot more uncomfortable. But no matter where he had crashed, he had never woken up feeling this bad before.

The dream. He hadn't started feeling sore and weary until sometime after the dream. The dream itself had begun a week and a half ago. The soreness manifested a day or two later, but nothing like this. It had been small annoyances that went away the moment he started moving around. Pains in one shoulder, one knee, or one small spot on the back.

It was getting progressively worse. And not one to be close minded, Carl could not ignore the connection. Too bad he had yet to look into dream phenomenon.

Carl grinned spitefully. Of all the unusual subjects he had come to familiarize himself with, the one that would come in handy right now he only knew snatches about. Dreams could be interpreted, he just didn't know the method.

Kolchak pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth and letting out a small grunt of discomfort. He made his rigid way to the kitchen, still clenching his jaw as he tried to move as he normally did. He was anxious to pour something hot down his throat and into his stomach which would warm him up from the inside out. His hand was already reaching for the coffee pot which wasn't even within reach yet when he stopped. Something about the prospect of putting anything in his stomach made him suddenly ill, so he dropped his hand, staring questionably at the coffee pot as though it were the reason for this change of heart.

Carl tilted his head back in frustration. He turned, and leaned with his hands splayed on the counter. His arms shook slightly trying to hold him up, and it startled him.

_What's wrong with me?_

He straightened, relieving his arms of his own weight. He looked at his hands, which were wracked by slight tremors.

_Aged in a day. Great. _

He dropped his hands, shaking his head.

_Sleep walking might be a possible reason_, he thought. He'd done a little research on sleepwalking and knew that some walkers had been known to take full traipses around the block only to end up back in bed. Kolchak didn't put it past himself to be a sleepwalker. It was usually an indication of mental and/or emotional turmoil, and even he admitted that he had plenty of that to go around.

Foregoing coffee and breakfast, he skipped ahead to a shower and a change of clothes. He and Perri had another interview today with one Mr. Valasky. The man's wife had been found butchered like a pig in their own dining room Monday morning. Carl and Perri had learned of it the following day, and were quick to jump on it. Valasky, however, had been in no mood to talk with anyone say for the police. The hope was that today he might be a little more open because it might help. Most who lose loved ones to serial killers were this way. After the initial grief and time to think, they came to realize that anything that could help in catching the SOB killer was worth it. That included giving statements to reporters.

Carl was to meet Perri at Valasky's house, so he moved as quickly as his aching limbs would let him. The shower helped 'thaw him' as it were, and once in some fresher clothes he could finally attest to feeling a little better.

But there in lay the problem. It was only a little relief. Before heading out he took some Tylenol in hopes of adding to that relief. It was torture trying to get himself to swallow the stupid pill. He nearly gagged it back up, which hadn't been a problem for him since he was a little kid. But gagging he could ignore. Pills were never a joy to take.

He grabbed his keys off the counter, then headed out the door – and was immediately assaulted by a myriad of smells that made him pause. Moldy water, metallic sand, the ammonia of animal urine, the various musks and stenches of animals, exhaust, something like fried food from a distant fast food joint, and things he could not give names to because he had never smelled anything like them before. The various odors sent shock ripping through him in the form of alternating emotions; both wonder and terror reeling dizzily inside his head. His heart pounded, and he could hear its thumping, not muffled but clear as though it were beating outside of himself.

And it frightened him, made him want to run. It was a terror he had never felt before in his life; irrational and all-consuming. It made his breath come faster and faster, and his body cringe like a bristling animal. He stepped back, slowly, as something might when cornered by something dangerous. He felt danger all around him, soaked into everything, and it had him trapped. He wanted to flee, to fight, anything to make it all stop.

Then it did stop. The smells, the hammering crash of his heart, and the terror ceased like the removal of a blindfold from off his eyes. He straightened, and resumed his normal breathing, glancing around as though he might actually find what it was that had caused... whatever it was that had happened to him.

He let out a breath that should have had every muscle in his body relaxing, but relief was apparently hard to come by at the moment. Even though he could no longer hear it, his heart was still slamming away, and he was shaking.

_Yeah, I think I might need a doctor,_ he thought. But not a head shrink. If he could, he would avoid going down that road for as long as possible.

NSNSNSNSNSNS

_I probably shouldn't be driving either._

Carl negotiated the streets to Valasky's house as though he were just learning how to drive. His heart had resumed normal beating rhythms, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Even the mundane task of driving had taken on a precarious edge. If the panic attack or whatever it had been returned, he could see himself driving off the road in another fit to escape.

Right now, he was blaming whatever it had been on the dreams. But, just in case, before starting the car, he had called about a doctor's appointment – the sooner the better kind of appointment. Unfortunately, sooner meant two days from now.

Carl arrived at the suburban, two-story home, but only knew he had arrived on seeing Perri's car and Perri leaning against it with arms folded. Jain was there as well, pacing erratically with his hands in his pocket and camera thumping on his chest. As soon as Carl parked behind Perri's car, both turned to look at him with slight surprise - Perri with mild amusement.

Carl, never one to be self-conscious, was suddenly self-conscious. When he managed to pry his fingers from the steering wheel, he found that they were still shaking. He lowered them, clenching them at his side. He took several deep breaths that were supposed to be calming, but came out as poor, shuddering attempts at relief. He felt both exhausted and tense, agitated and worn out, his body aching with fatigue but his mind racing with worry.

And there was nothing he could do about it. So he opened the door, climbing from the car while keeping his fists clenched. Perri began moving toward him, smirking slightly.

" Wow, this is new. Me the first one here and you late. This isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, is it?"

Carl's hands, even fisted, kept shaking, so he shoved them into the pockets of jeans. He looked at Perri, wondering if she had noticed though she had yet to say anything. Perri's gaze, however, was on Carl's face, and the smirk vanished.

" Are you all right? You look really pale."

Carl, turned away, looking at the street then the house uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, then nodded. " Yeah it's just – I've been a little under the weather, that's all."

" Sure you're up for this?"

Kolchak nodded. " Yeah." He then looked at Perri, and managed a small smile. " Might be the only chance we get."

Perri eyed Carl uncertainly, then started for the front door, Jain following a few steps behind.

" Hey Carl," the young man said cheerfully. Carl nodded a greeting in return. The young photographer had a way of lighting up like a Christmas tree whenever Carl showed up. But Carl knew that Jain's fascination with him and his mind-boggling theories was like the fascination people have with car wrecks. Kolchak was an interesting oddity, but at least Jain's enthusiasm and willingness to believe the strange were genuine. It's why Carl had taken a quick liking to the kid when they met – or a little while after they met. Carl always knew better than to give in to first impressions, or he and Perri would still be at nastier odds.

Perri arrived at the door first and was already knocking. Carl had barely walked up beside her when the door was opened, sunlight flashing blindingly off the oval-shaped window. A man, probably younger than Kolchak, stood in the entrance holding an eleventh or twelve month old baby in one arm. The man had dark, almost black hair cut short and combed back, pale brown eyes, and a slightly long, thin face. He looked as though he hadn't shaved this morning, or even gone into any kind of work since he was dressed in a faded red T-shirt and jeans. The baby he was holding was in far better condition dress-wise, wearing denim breeches and a white shirt with a cartoon dump-truck on the front. The infant was contentedly babbling as he toyed with his father's collar, trying to get it into his mouth.

" Mr. Valasky?" Perri said, looking a little taken back by his slightly unkempt appearance. Carl, from personal experience, had been expecting what he saw.

" I'm Perri Reed," She continued, " and this is Carl Kolchak. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday about possibly asking you a few questions?"

Valasky nodded. " Um, yeah, I remember. Come in."

On entering, they also introduced him to Jain, assuring Valasky that he was present for other reasons and not to take pictures of the house or any such as. Valasky led them through the small, tiled hallway into the living room, or what was going to be the living room. There were boxes, unpacked and still packed, scattered everywhere. Valasky cleared some room on the couch using one hand, then pulled up an ornate dining room chair for Jain to sit in. Valasky set the baby on a blanket amongst some toys, then unfolded a padded chair, setting it and himself in front of the reporters.

For a moment, they all sat in silence, say for the baby who was still gurgling and cooing happily, gumming a plastic duck and looking up at the three strangers with wide, blue eyes as though they were the most wonderful things he had ever seen.

Valasky was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He then exhaled a sharp breath. " This is good, right? Talking to you guys? Getting the word out? You don't think – you don't think it's too soon, do you?"

Perri and Carl exchanged glances. Carl then looked back at Valasky and shook his head. " No, not in this case. The more people learn about this killer, the more prepared they can be to protect themselves."

Valasky snorted derisively. " Doesn't seem to be helping much. I would read the story every day, before..." he gestured vaguely, then let out a single bitter laugh that was verging more along the lines of a sob. " I kind of stopped reading after that, even caring unless the headlines said something about him being caught. I never even heard when she... if she..." He covered his mouth with one hand, and looked to the floor. But Carl took notice of the man's eyes taking on a shimmering quality that could only be created by tears.

Perri leaned forward herself. " I'm sorry, Mr. Valasky. If this really is a bad time..."

He shook his head, but did not remove his hand from his mouth. Carl could feel the man's struggle, as well as see it. The way he was scrunching up his eyes, the creases in his face as he grimaced. He was fighting his emotions hard, shoving back what – in all truth – he needed to eventually let out, no matter how much it hurt.

It made Carl suddenly wonder if he had done the same; held it in or let it out, but he couldn't remember. He remembered feeling numb, confused, lost, and not much else.

Finally, Valasky's emotions relented, and he was able to regain control. He took in a shuddering breath and straightened, then nodded an okay.

Perri cleared her throat. " Okay, um... You said you didn't hear anything, right?"

Valasky nodded. " I was upstairs, giving Ben a bath. Alicia was in the dining room, unpacking." His eyes flicked nervously to the dining room across from the living room, as though it were a dark and shadowy place he did not ever want to enter. Police tape was still strung across the entrance, the only flimsy barrier between him and a nightmare. Kolchak also looked, and saw a faint hint of red peeking out on the right of the entry-way.

Valasky shook his head in a daze. " I didn't hear anything. Not even a scream. I got Ben out of the tub, dried him off, dressed him, put him in his crib, then came downstairs..." Again he trailed, and again his eyes threatened to flood over. He swallowed, and tore his gaze away from the dining room and the red on the carpet. Carl had a feeling that Valasky would soon be repacking.

Valasky looked down at his hands. " I thought..." his voice hitched, and he cleared his throat. " I thought, after seeing the body and calling for help, that they might blame me. But they didn't. They knew right off who had done it. Oh gosh, I couldn't stop puking! Ben was crying and I couldn't even go to him..."

" And you didn't see anyone?" Carl asked, breaking into Valasky's thoughts. Valasky blinked as though waking, then shook his head no.

" No one. Didn't even hear the doorbell ring or anything."

" Did the police say how they knew it was The Ghost Man?" Carl asked. It wasn't the most creative name the police had thought up, but a name was better than nothing.

Valasky shrugged, sniffing. " Um, something about," he gestured at his chest, " the heart." The man's eyes were becoming bloodshot, and his face was pale. He swallowed, and the act seemed to hurt him.

_We probably should have waited a few more days_, Carl thought. Then again, sitting and talking calmly with two reporters who knew how _not_ to push was probably a relief compared to the pack of reporters that had tried to shove their way into this man's home the other day. Carl had witnessed it on the news, and it had made him sick. Having cameras flashing in one's face and a slough of people shouting questions was not only overwhelming, it was down right scary, especially if one were still reeling from shock.

Personal experience had made Carl swear never to be that kind of reporter.

Valasky wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands. " I – I'm sorry..."

Perri shook her head. " No, it's all right, Mr. Valasky. We know this is hard. We don't need any details, just your story."

Perri's eyes were flitting back and forth from Valasky to Carl. Carl almost wanted to laugh. Perri was waiting for him to drop one of his bombshell, freaky questions on Valasky.

But Carl had no intentions of doing so. Not to this man. Besides, he didn't need to. There would be no witnesses to what he wanted to know, and never would be.

Carl felt a slight pressure on his shoe, and looked down to see the baby, Ben, with both his small hands pressing down as he looked up at Carl. Ben then smiled a huge, bright-eyed smile, and giggled as though it were all part of some game. Then, using Carl's leg for support, the baby pulled himself up into standing position, gripping Carl's knee with tiny fingers.

" You can move him back on the blanket if he's bugging you," Valasky said. Carl smiled at the baby, and the baby giggled.

" Nah," Carl said, and took Ben's small hands, letting the infant wrap his fingers around Carl's finger and squeeze. A sensation of warmth trickled up and down Carl's spine. His chest tightened, constricting his heart.

_I could have had this,_ he painfully thought. He had wanted it. When his wife had given him the news that she was pregnant, he had wanted it more than anything else at that moment. And in that moment, he had been completely, undeniable happy. It was a joy that could never be outdone, but one he knew he would never feel again. It had died the same moment it had come, that night on the highway.

Carl could not help but think how lucky this baby was, because he was alive, he had been born, and he still had his father. He was too small to know what was going on, and to remember as the years past. He was not aware of the pain.

Yet he had lost his mom, without having truly known her, or with any memories of her to hold onto. He wouldn't remember her, and that wasn't right.

Carl realized with a start that Perri was still asking questions, and Valasky was answering as best he could. Ben was still holding onto Carl's finger, but was now reaching out toward his knee. The infant moved on unsteady legs across Carl, then across the couch to Perri.

" They found some footprints," Valasky was saying. " Too big to be from me, and that cleared me permanently. The killer went out through the kitchen. There's a trail – you know – of blood. They let me clean that up. It's just the dining room I can't touch. I don't understand why she didn't scream. They said there were no chemicals or anything in her. I would have heard her. Ben isn't a loud baby, and he was being quiet. I had the door open, and I could hear Alicia singing... She loved to sing. She never had to sing loud, I could always hear her. Then it stopped, but I thought she'd gone outside. I didn't know anything until I went downstairs."

Perri nodded, raising her notepad to keep it away from Ben's grasping fingers. Ben squealed, bouncing, thinking it all a game.

Valasky was rubbing his hands together slowly, thoughtfully, thinking back without trying to think too much. " That all?" He asked.

Perri looked up at the man, smiled and nodded. " Yes, that's all we need. Thank you, Mr. Valasky."

Valasky rose, and took Ben so that Perri could stand. " Was anything else discovered about this Ghost guy?" Valasky asked. " Do they know anything yet?"

Perri looked directly at Carl, again waiting for him to say something that would elicit another incredulous stare from a stranger.

Carl looked from Perry to Mr. Valasky. " Not really," he said. Valasky nodded, not trying to hide his disappointment. He escorted them to the door, with Ben waving bye-bye by clenching and unclenching one small fist.

The three headed to the cars after hearing the door shut softly behind them.

" You sure you're feeling all right?" Perri asked. " No offense, but I thought you'd be a little more verbal than you were."

" You mean ask him about strangers coming in pretending to be someone else? A little inappropriate, don't you think?"

Perri started in mock surprise. " Inappropriate? Really?" She stared at him for a silent moment, studying him over as though she had never seen him before. " Maybe you need to see a doctor."

Carl looked back at the house. " Already made the appointment," he mumbled.

It wasn't fair.

Jain spoke up then. " This guy, after cutting out his victims hearts... Wouldn't he be covered in blood? How do you not notice something like that? A guy walking through a house or crowd, covered in blood and gripping a human heart."

" He could have discarded whatever he was wearing," Perri replied.

" Yeah, but the cops never find anything left behind. And no one has yet to _see anything_. I don't know about you guys, but this is really starting to freak me out."

Perri rolled her eyes. " I don't know why. You live alone. I doubt the Ghost would go through all the trouble hunting you down if no one's around to not witness anything. Hey, Carl?"

The muscles of Carl's back and shoulders tightened, and he heard Perri say his name like a thought at the far back of his mind.

This wasn't right. People were dying, and the killers couldn't be found, or explained, or proven if they even exist. They came and went as they pleased, as though everything and everyone else existed only for them. They killed without feeling or reason, and possessed the ability to act without detection. Others took the fall for them. No locked door or moving car could keep them out. There was no way to be safe from these... things. Kolchak sought them with the tenacity of a hunter and couldn't even scrape up one scrap of evidence concerning their existence.

" Carl?" Perri asked again.

" It's not fair," he murmured.

" What?" Perri asked. Carl looked at her, and felt suddenly bone-weary.

" I'll meet you at the office," he said, and headed to his car.

His hands had started shaking again. He had never noticed they had stopped. But the trembling was not just in his hands, but his shoulders as well. He got into his car before Perri or Jain could see. Then he realized – he wasn't shaking out of fatigue, or fear – but out of fury.

_It wasn't fair. It's not right. _


	4. Fear

Ch. 3

_Ca-rl._

He's still standing there, eyes fixed on the silver strip of horizon. She's still on the ground, bleeding empty. And they are still calling.

There are no stars in the sky where its blackest, and he finds that fascinating and frightening. He can see the darkness hovering above his vision, drifting inches away from the horizon where the last strip of light lingers. It makes him think of a doorway between today and tomorrow, and if it fades he will never be able to find it again, and the darkness would descend like a veil over everything. He wouldn't be able to see her if that happened.

He still wants his answers, and they still have them. They have everything; ends and begginings. He wants them more than he has wanted anything else...

No, that can't be right. There had been something else, something far more powerful. But his mind is fogged with the whispering promises of what he could have, and they are pulling him to the horizon without him actually moving.

He's still refusing to move. He sees her more clearly now, and smells only the metallic stench of blood soaking into the ground around his feet. The desert was drinking it up, and the thought, the knowledge, was pissing him off.

The desert was eating what was left, and there was nothing he could do except stand there.

But he found a small amount a pleasure in not moving, something akin to vindictiveness. It felt right, not moving though the voices and desire beckoned. It was as though he were starving, and food was beyond that horizon. To get that food, however, required a price, a price he already knew he did not want to pay. He was not sure how he knew, it was just a feeling gnawing the back of his mind, giving him pause. So he was justified, probably more than he realized, in not going beyond that horizon.

_Caa-aarl!_

It wasn't fair. The answers were before him, just a few steps away, but he had to come to them. They wouldn't come to him.

He didn't want to leave her, because he knew that if he did... something far worse would happen. As though it could get any worse. Deep down inside, something told him it could, and very much so.

_Caaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllllllllllllll! _

NNNNNNNNN

Carl awoke, gasping. But it was not the quick gasp of one waking from a nightmare. His was the ragged, throat-rending inhalation of lungs starved for oxygen, as though he had been trapped beneath water far longer than what was possible and only now broke the surface. Again, his back arched, and his ribs spread to the breaking point. He gripped the couch until his nails dug into the fabric, ripping it with the strength of his terror. Finally, his lungs reached their capacity, and he released the breath in a rush of air, his body dropping back onto the couch.

He lay there, panting, heart slamming, and his grip refusing to relent its hold on the couch. He stared, wide-eyed and trembling, at the blue-gray ceiling.

Morning twilight, the coming of day. He was awake, but he could still smell – and even taste – the metallic consistency of blood. In fact, the taste of it was very strong, becoming stronger as it mixed with saliva. The nauseating flavor began creeping to the back of his throat, choking him. He tried to get up, but the pain radiating from every joint and muscle in his body wouldn't let him. So he rolled over and spit on the floor. A dark glob stretched from his mouth and fell onto the carpet, and the carpet soaked it up thirstily. Carl stared at it and became caught in the grips of deja vu. He did not need any light to know that it was blood.

Blood began filling his mouth again. He forced his body to move against the pain, only to fall off the couch and utter a small cry of agony. He lay there, gritting his teeth. He hurt everywhere far worse than he had the other day. It felt as if his muscles were actually tearing apart whenever he so much as moved a finger. The blood filling his mouth leaked out against his will and traced a warm path down his chin and neck.

" Son of a...!" he murmured, grimacing. Even talking was nightmare.

Finally, he stopped trying to move all together and just lay there. He had his ear pressed into the now stained carpet, and could hear his heart's bass reverberation like a muffled drum through the floor. He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, listening to that steadying thump and counting out the beats until he could no longer hear them because his heart had finally calmed. He could have stayed like that forever, and would have out of fear of moving. But he didn't have time to be infirm. He never had time.

He moved a finger first, and when that produced no ill effects he tried his arms, then his legs. He took a deep breath, testing the muscles of his ribcage. Nothing happened except for the usual uncomfortable twinge of an aching body. So he pushed himself onto his feet slowly like a man with arthritis, and stood. The excruciating pain of only moments ago might as well not have existed. He felt – for the most part – fine, pretty much the same as yesterday, though perhaps a little dizzier.

Kolchak lurched to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The glaring brightness burned his eyes, burrowing into his brain like a drill made of fire. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them cautiously. He blinked a few times and stared wearily at the pale, drawn, sallow-eyed face in the mirror, the front of his shirt sweat-soaked past his sternum. Perri hadn't been kidding when she said he had looked like hell, though he was probably worse off today than when she had said it.

The taste of blood was back in his mouth, not as potently but enough to make him feel sick again. He spat blood into the sink, then opened his mouth, checking the interior. Sure enough, he had bit both his tongue and his cheek. He flipped on the faucet and gathered cold water into his hand. He rinsed, then spit, only to take more water, this time drinking it. He took another swallow after that, then another and another. He had not realized he was so thirsty until he had the water in his mouth. The pain had been a little too distracting to notice much else.

Carl looked back at the image that was supposed to be his own face.

" Crap," he breathed uneasily. He wasn't just pale, he was verging on white. He backed away from the mirror, and the tremors returned. He would admit it, he was starting to get scared.

_Why does it have to take two days to see a doctor?_ He contemplated the emergency room, but the fact was, whatever had been seriously wrong with him had abated. He felt tired, nauseous, and he ached, but doctors would only pass it off as the flu and tell him to get bed rest and some Nyquil. He needed a thorough examination, not just a perusal while those with more serious problems were forced to wait.

Carl went ahead with the rest of his morning routine, which had now narrowed down to just a shower and dressing. He had even less of an appetite today than he had yesterday.

Once ready, he headed to the door, only to stop. He braced himself for what he hoped wouldn't come next. With a shaking hand and stiff arm, he opened his door and stepped out.

No smells assaulted him, and no panic attacks crippled his mind. He let out a breath of relief, then hurried to his car before his mind and body decided to have a change of heart.

_I really probably shouldn't be going in today._ But neither did he want to stay home. At the moment, the idea of being alone was frightening.

_It has to be the dream._ _But all I do is stand there. Unless I am sleepwalking. Even sleep running. So why the sleep apnea then? Why so much pain?_

Carl had never felt that much pain at one time in his life. It had almost been as bad as breaking a bone, but every bone at once.

Carl wasn't aware when he arrived at work, and only vaguely aware of heading to his desk. His mind was lost slogging through a mire of questions, and he sank deeper into that mire when he tried to recall the dream. All he could remember was standing there, the blood, the scent of it, and something calling his name.

There had been something else, a feeling, but that was the only way he could describe it.

The place was busy, but it was supposed to be busy. Carl maneuvered around hurrying bodies with practiced ease, almost like an instinct. He noticed this, momentarily, because he found it odd. Normally, he would have bumped into someone by now.

He was also becoming uncomfortable around so many. It made him feel pressed in, enclosed... trapped. He quickened his steps to his desk, and if someone had called his name, he didn't hear it, not until he reached the safety of his work station. Once he sat, he breathed an unsteady sigh of relief.

_Yeah, really shouldn't have come in. Bad idea._

Carl closed his eyes, letting his vision rest and shutting out the images of so many people rushing every which way. He was shivering again, but as he sat staring into the darkness behind his eyelids, he felt himself finally begin to relax. The sounds and smells of the office became back ground existences, like fading dreams. His mind began to wander. He could see a desert. He could smell the sand – as well as the blood.

_Ca-arl..._ Farther away now, much farther.

" Carl!"

Carl snapped his eyes open, gasping though it was not the chest-splitting gasp of this morning. His heart jolted like a spooked rabbit, and his mind reeled dizzily. Smells, once again, assaulted him; coffee, water, wood, plastic, ink, colognes and perfumes, human sweat, metal and much more besides. Sounds attacked him, closing him in; shouts, laughter, loud talking, multiple conversations, telephones chirping incessantly, and, strangely enough, heartbeats.

Then, as though some switch had been pulled, it all stopped. The smells vanished, and the noises died into the mundane cacophony he was used to.

" Carl?"

Carl looked up into the blatantly concerned face of Perri. He was momentarily distracted by something biting into his hands. Looking down, he noticed himself gripping the desk so tight that his knuckles were white and his hands shook. He released the desk and looked at the angry red lines on his palms.

Carl dropped his hands, rubbing them on his thighs as though it might get rid of the imprints. He looked up at Perri, and refused to hide the worry he was feeling.

" Carl, you're shaking," she said, her face darting up and down in the act of worry scrutiny.

" I know," Carl replied.

" You look sick, and I mean really sick."

Carl shrugged, looking away. " It's not as bad as it looks. I haven't been feeling well, so I haven't been eating well. That kind of thing."

" Maybe you should go home, get some rest."

Carl shuddered. " Yeah, rest, right. I'd kill for some rest right now."

Perri turned and headed for her own desk, then rolled her chair over to Kolchak, moving around so that she was within his space and able to face him when he turned. She leaned forward, all ears and all business.

" What's going on Carl?"

Carl did not turn to face her, but instead slumped with his arms on his desk. He curved his back, trying to get out a kink that refused to leave.

" Bad dreams."

He could see Perri glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. " Seriously, Carl, what's going on?"

He turned his head to meet her gaze and let her see all truths, including his fear. " I am serious. Bad dreams. Nothing even happens in them. It's just me, standing there, hearing things." He lowered his voice, because he did not want others to hear. " I see my wife," he said unsteadily. " Dead. I'm with her and I can't leave her. So I stand there. But when I wake up... It hurts, Perri. It hurts to wake up. It's like I'm drowning and being ripped to pieces at the same time. I can't even move, then I can't even eat. That's what's going on with me. At the moment, it really sucks to be me."

Carl couldn't believe he had just confessed everything like that. In all truth, though, he really didn't care. He was scared, and he wanted some answers. But even if he didn't get those answers, and he doubted he would, he at least wanted someone else to know. Secrets tended to create solitude, and right now solitude was the last thing he wanted.

Perri's wide-eyed gaze was transfixed on Carl, and for a moment it seemed as though she had frozen permanently in that position.

" Oh," she finally said. She sat back stiffly, absorbing everything Carl had told her. Then she arched her eyebrows. " Well, even I have to admit that dreams have been known to cause strange things to occur. Could you be – you know – sleepwalking?"

Carl would have smiled, but didn't feel up to it. Perri was actually thinking on his terms for a change. " Yeah, I considered that."

" How bad is this pain you feel in the morning?"

" This morning, I couldn't even move, not for a while. It hurt too much."

When Carl said those words, Perri stood abruptly. " We need to get you to a hospital..."

Carl, however, raised a placating hand and shook his head no. " I already have an appointment tomorrow and I plan to stick with it. Going to the emergency room won't help. I feel better now since the pain goes away after a while."

" Carl, this is serious!"

Carl felt irritation prickle along his spine. " Don't you think I know that!" he snapped, then looked away, abashed. " Sorry."

Perri lowered herself back into her seat. " Don't be sorry. Listen, there's not much to look into today anyways. In fact, that's why I came over here, to tell you that that interview we had planned was canceled on us just now. You know, the granddaughter of that old woman who was killed? Someone beat us too it."

" The Star?" Carl asked. Tabloid papers were like worms, slipping in under the noses of the bigger papers by dishing out dirt, half of which tended to be over-exaggerated truths.

" Yeah. It's like I said. She was open to talk because she wanted the recognition, not because she wanted to help." Perri patted Carl's knee. " Come on, let's talk to Tony, see if we can't help get you some time off."

Perri rose from her seat. Carl reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked back in alarm.

" No," Carl said desperately. " I really need to stay here. If I go back home, to rest, I'll fall asleep and I'll dream. I don't want to dream, Perri. That's when it happens. I really, _really_ would rather it didn't happen again."

The despair in his voice was just as apparent on his face, his eyes, shocking Perri. She turned back, facing him, and dropped herself back into her chair.

" All right, Carl. It's all right. I suppose if you've lasted this long..." she shrugged. She fell silent for a moment, fiddling with the hem of her black blouse.

" It really hurts? That bad?"

Carl nodded numbly. " Like I'm being ripped to pieces."

The panic attacks he opted to keep to himself, just for now. One problem to deal with at a time.

Perri went quiet again, twitching an uneasy smile at Carl in an attempt at being reassuring. It caused Kolchak a small twinge of remorse to burn at the back of his skull. All his supernatural speculations had never left Perri as speechless and uncomfortable as she was now. And neither had they brought about so much open concern in her.

" So," she said after a time. " How do you think our Ghost Man chooses his victims?"

It was a blatant change of subject, and Carl appreciated it. He managed a small smile, which made Perri visibly relax a little.

" You really want to hear what I have to say?"

Perri smirked. " Try me."

Carl nodded. " I warned you. Personally, I think it's random."

Both of Perri's eyebrows lifted high up her forehead. " Random?"

" Random. The profiler says he kills to take away from those what he either doesn't have or lost. So, it makes sense he would look for that something to take away – public displays of affection, outward happiness, or whatever it is he despises so much. Once he's spotted it, then he proceeds into research; watching and waiting. He wouldn't need long, though. Just a little visual to go by, that's all."

" You mean watching to get a good illusionary image to disguise himself in?"

Carl nodded again. " Exactly."

Perri shook her head in another show of slight exasperation. " Carl..." but she knew better than to finish that sentence. There was never any changing Kolchak's mind about anything, and she was apparently starting to accept this.

" Next question," he said jokingly.

" Okay, then. So, if he picks his victims by what they're doing in public, then he must go to a lot of very crowded places..."

" That's not a question."

Perri raised her hand. " Not finished. Okay, so he picks a victim because he or she is kissing someone else or hugging a child or something. So then what, he follows them?"

" How else is he going to find them?"

Perri held up a finger. " Right. So he has a means of transportation. Probably hangs out at restaurants, grocery stores, parks..."

Carl narrowed his eyes, half in suspicion and half out of amusement. " Are you trying to get inside this guy's head?"

Perri, still talking, stopped with her mouth hanging open, ready for the next word. " Uh, what? His head? No, no of course not," she said laughingly. " I'm just..." she took a deep breath, then nodded. " Yeah, okay, I'm trying to 'get him'. Doesn't mean I'm trying to get in his head. Besides, I thought that was more your thing."

Carl shrugged. " Well, obviously, I've been a little distracted." Then he narrowed his eyes again. " You're really getting into this Ghost Man thing. Hoping to catch him yourself?"

Perri chuckled softly. " Yeah, right. I mean don't get me wrong, the reward money's pretty good incentive, but I value my life a little more than that. It's the story of the century and it's ours; that's why I'm into it. We were really lucky to grab this story first... but, you already know that," she added hastily.

Getting the story had actually been a fluke. The first death had been at the beginning of the month, and big news in the small town's paper because of the victim's missing heart. Yet that paper hadn't reported the details. Those details had been withheld by police and the coroner until an official investigation was under way. So all Carl knew of the situation was that a mutilated body had been found, and no evidence of breaking and entering though the family had been home.

Carl had misread the situation. He had thought, right off the bat, that the killing would end up being similar to what happened to his wife. So he and Perri were the first reporters to receive the facts the authorities were finally ready to release. Then another person had died, in public and with their heart removed, and another. After that, it was officially labeled a serial killing, and the story officially belonged to the Beacon; namely Carl and Perri.

Carl's obsession had paid off. Even he had to admit that. But his disappointment, for a time, had made him hate the potential story. It had dashed his hopes like glass on a rock. However, the unusual nature of the story – the deaths happening in public – had sparked his fascination fairly quick. He just couldn't say no to the unusual.

" I would say I'm shocked that you're not even more all over this thing than I am," Perri said. " But, in light of," she gestured at him vaguely, " situations, I'm really not."

Carl lifted his hand to rest his head against it. It was still shaking, so he dropped it back onto the armrest of his chair. Perri frowned, which meant she had taken notice. Carl took a deep breath and peered around uneasily. That's when he noticed people glancing periodically his way, reminding him that he still looked like something that had just crawled from a crypt.

When he looked away, he continued to feel those curious eyes like cold water being flicked onto the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, dredging up a sudden idea though he doubted it would prove fruitful.

" You know, I think I need a little fresh air. You up for a ride?"

" To where?"

" I don't know. Maybe some place public, crowded. There's that fair going on down town. Lot's of people there."

Perri straightened, wrinkling her brow. " What do you hope to find there, exactly?"

Carl tilted his head to one said. " I don't know. A little more insight into our Ghost Man, maybe. Who knows, maybe we might spot something."

" And what do we tell Tony? That we're profiling for ourselves?"

" No, just tell him we're out getting public opinion for the story, which we'll do. We're not doing much just sitting around here."

Now it was Perri who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. " I thought you weren't feeling good? Are you up to something?"

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, once again glancing around to avoid Perri's gaze though it meant having to notice people staring his own way. It made the indoors too confining all of a sudden, and the air heavy and overly warm.

" I'd just... rather be outside. You know, moving around, getting the blood flowing. Gotta be healthier then staying cooped up in a stuffy office. Besides, who knows, I might be contagious."

Perri kept her eyes narrowed for a moment, then relaxed the muscles of her face with a sigh. " Fine. But you'd better not pass out on me or anything. Oh, and _I'll_ drive."

Carl held up both his unsteady hands. " No arguments here."

NNNNNNNNNNNN

It was a weekday, but the mild weather with its clear skies and air throbbing with the distant percussion of some band argued otherwise. The district where the annual, city sponsored fair was held was thick with people, flowing like a flooded river throughout downtown. Families, couples, friends; all people who on any other day would either be at work or school. They crowded the sidewalks without congesting them, vanishing into restaurants or into parking lots where booths were set up. There were games, food stands, people selling crafts, raffles, carriage rides, and live music. It was a party no one was going to miss out on, especially on this fine day.

And even with a serial killer probably wandering around among them.

It was a negative outlook, Carl knew. But then that's why truths were always considered cold and hard. If Kolchak was right in his thinking, then the fair was happy hunting grounds for the Ghost Man.

The smell of various foods that dominated the aether was making Carl sick on two fronts. For one, he was practically starving after having gone two days without even a snack. Secondly, the thought of eating still made him nauseas. If organs tended to have minds of their own, then his stomach was opting for being a jerk.

_One or the other, pal, can't have it both ways,_ Carl thought in frustration. He took a swallow from the bottle of Seven Up he'd got from a vending machine, and the split protests of his stomach quieted some. Sodas actually had a benefit when it came to problems of the gut. His wife had told him that.

" Oh, I don't think they'll catch his guy," a woman in her early forties was saying to Perri. She was a short, petite woman with shoulder-length brown hair verging on gray. Her eyes were shielded behind a pair of sunglasses and her forehead shadowed by a pink visor. Hanging onto her arm and swinging slightly from side to side was a girl of about six with her dark hair tied up in pigtails. Both were in capris and sleeveless shirts.

" Why do you think that?" Perri asked after writing into her notepad.

" He kills right under people's noses and no one even sees or hears anything? Come on, don't tell me it's possible?"

Carl looked away, scanning the crowds. Jain was off to his right, snapping pictures of a train of restored classical cars being paraded slowly down the street

" I won't even open my windows anymore..." the woman continued. " And I've started picking up my kids. Their stop is ten houses down. Too far if you ask me."

Perri wrote some more, then thanked the woman and turned to Carl, squinting against the day's brightness.

" It's unanimous," she said. " People are freaked."

Carl smiled slightly. " That going to be the headline?"

Perri smiled back. " Then we wouldn't have a story since it kind of sums everything up. Fresh air doing any good?"

Carl took another swallow of soda when he felt his stomach try to resume its churning. " I wouldn't really call this air fresh."

Perri grimaced. " Well, sorry to say but you don't look any better. I would say this little field trip was a bust, but at least we got something to write about. Though opinion polls aren't really my thing."

" Mine neither," Kolchak replied. He scanned the crowds again, stopping his sights on figures that were simply standing around. Way too many to count, let alone be suspicious of.

The smells of food was overpowering, and the crowds – though moving freely – too close for comfort. Carl was beginning to regret coming to the fair.

But neither did he want to go back to the office, or go home for that matter. He didn't know where he wanted to be, so shoved back his rising sense of unease, honing his thoughts to focus only on the story, and not on his immediate surroundings.

Jain joined the two, storing his camera back in its bag. " Well, got some good stuff for the arts and leisures page. Do you guys really think that G-Man might be here?"

Perri gave Jain her most incredulous stare. " _G_-man?"

Jain returned her look with his own offended one. " What? Better than saying his full name and scaring the crap out of anyone who's listening."

Perri rolled her eyes. " Whatever. Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised."

Carl did another pass with his eyes over the faces and forms of the people passing or standing still. He wasn't naïve; he knew he wouldn't just spot the guy and get a sudden premonition of who he was. But knowing that he could be around had sparked an instinctual need to look all the same. It was more of an action of self defense, keeping watch for those that might be watching him, Perri, or even Jain with a little too much keen interest.

" Wow, that's creepy if you think about it," Jain said. " Makes you not want to be outside anymore. Of course, not that being inside was any safer for the people that died."

The food smells took on a sudden, overwhelming intensity, so much so that Carl could distinguish between scents and the shock of it made him drop his soda. He could pick out the smell of warming hot dogs from that of fried chicken. He could even pick out the scent of sweat on a woman passing by beneath her thick coating of perfume. And the noise became like a constant roaring in his ears.

But the sounds he could ignore. Through the mess of scents assaulting his senses and seeming to pack his lungs, he caught something that soon stood out like red on white. It was metallic, foul - a smell Carl despised.

Blood. Somewhere nearby was the scent of blood. It had not been strong until he had noticed it, and now it was the only smell that mattered. He turned his head, searching for he source of the smell. It became potent when he looked over his shoulder. So he turned, and began walking away while Jain and Perri were still talking.

" Just don't turn into a paranoid..." Perri was saying, then stopped. " Hey, Carl? Carl, where are you going?"

Carl heard Perri and Jain following, and sensed their presence at his back. But he was too intent on the smell to answer. As he followed it, it became stronger. He didn't have to sniff, the scent entered into him unbidden, like the noises of the fair beating against his eardrums. Had it not been for the smell occupying his mind, he would have ran. He wanted to. Being around so many – it didn't feel right to him. It was too closed, stifled, dizzying. It wasn't where he belonged, or where he should be, and he wanted to leave. It wasn't so much panic, but more like a need. He was afraid, yes, but still in control. But only because he had something to focus on. And when his mind tried to drift away, he felt the fear rise up like a flood of ice, and only concentrating back on the blood pushed it away.

Carl crossed the street, staring intently ahead, following a small crowd. A tall, bald man with a thick-muscled body kept peering over his shoulder at Carl. The man's arms were bare, and splotched with a number of tattoos in various sizes. A slightly shorter man with receding brown hair and glasses was doing the same, as was a thin blond woman in a business suit, and a man about Carl's age with stringy brown hair and a heavy build. Each glance was different; the big man threatening, the balding man questioning, the woman nervous, and the young man slightly curious. There were other people around them, but none took notice of Carl. Only these four. And when he neared them, the scent of blood became stronger. So strong, in fact, that Carl could practically taste it, and it made his stomach roil with disgust.

" Carl?" Perri said. He could hear her voice, and took notice of her out of the corner of his eye, but she might as well have been left far behind and be only an echo of thought. The blood was right before him, within the small crowd, maybe from one of the four continually glancing back at him.

Suddenly, the tattooed man stopped, turning abruptly to put his heavy hand on Carl's chest, stopping him. The other three continued on to become lost in the masses.

The smell of blood vanished, as did each individual smell trying to suffocate him. Carl's head swam, and his limbs felt suddenly heavy and unweilding.

" Hey, you got a problem pal?" the bald man sneered. " Something about me you find fascinating? That why you're following me?"

Carl shook his head, trying to clear it, then looked up at the man, accepting his presence for the first time. " What? I wasn't following you. I was just walking. Got a problem with people just walking?"

The big man's hand never left Carl's chest. He took a step forward, radiating menace, and stinking of sweat. But not the sweat of a warm day. It was the sweat of fear. Carl caught the scent, though it was fleeting as a darting mouse, and knew it for what it was. He did not know how he knew, he just did. It was different from the smell of bodies flowing around him. Tainted with something extra, something chemical and profound.

The man was afraid. He could snap Carl's neck like a dried twig, but was afraid.

But Carl's shock could not smother his irritation at being interrupted in his search. The source of the smell had been right in front of him, drifting off of one of the four. Apparently, though, not the guy hulking like sasquatch in front of him. Carl met the man's gaze with his own menacing glare.

" I got a problem with people staring at me like that..." the man snapped.

It was then that Perri interceded, appearing beside Carl as though out of nowhere. She placed a hand on Carl's shoulder, and another on his arm, looking up at the tattooed man.

" I'm sorry. Please don't mind him. He's not feeling well. We've been trying to get him to the car, but he keeps wandering off. He didn't mean anything by it. Delirious, you see. Sorry about that, really."

She then began pulling at Kolchak's arm until he finally relented, letting Perri drag him away. Carl continued to glare at the bald man until he became sallowed up in the throngs crossing the street.

Perri placed her hands on both of Carl's shoulders and forcibly turned him so that he was facing her. She was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and deep concern written all over her face.

" Carl? What the hell was that?"

He blinked several times. It felt as though he had just woken up from a less-than restful nap, and desperately needed another one.

" What was what?"

She thrust her hand out toward the street where the bald man had been. " _That_! I swear, for a moment, I thought you were going to attack that guy. I mean the look on your face..." she shook her head. " It scared me, Carl, I mean really scared me."

" Yeah," Jain added. " It was kind of... I don't know... vicious – like you wanted to tear that guy to pieces. Actually, you looked like you wanted to tear everyone to pieces. Like Perri said, scary. Really, really, _really_ scary."

Cold filled Carl, prickling his skin. He swallowed, looking from Perri to Jain, as though they could explain to him what just happened. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, then looked back, hoping the bald man wasn't trying to shove his way through and finish what Carl apparently had almost begun.

_Fear. I smelled fear on him. That scary?_

" Maybe we should go," Perri said.

Carl nodded numbly. " Yeah, maybe we should."

NSNSNSNSNSNS

A/N: I would like to sincerely thank Lone Tread for your help in spelling sleep apnea and pointing out that I had photographer dude's name wrong. I have no idea where the crap I got Anthony from. The site that I had looked at when getting the names wasn't exactly clear on names, I don't know why.


	5. Pain

Ch. 4

_Ca-arl..._

He won't go. They can call and call until they have no more voice to call with, and he still won't move. He paces around her like an animal protecting what belongs to it.

Which is exactly his intent.

To find them means to leave her behind, leave her to _them_. They would take what was left of her, and devour her until there was nothing left, not even blood for the ground to drink. With her gone, Carl would forget, and he didn't want to forget. Not her.

They weren't going to take her.

But oh how the answers beckoned him. After all, he was doing this for her. He wanted to learn and to know for her sake, to give her death meaning and then closure.

The horizon had that for her, if he would go to it.

But it was too easy. There were other ways. It wasn't instant gratification, but he didn't care for that, not for the price he had to pay. His sanity he could part with, but not her, and not to leave her to _them_.

Carl's heart slammed and hammered against him in a pent up fit of rage equal to the fury burning in his brain and through his blood. He hated _them._ It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. They had everything and demanded all. But who were they to demand? What gave them the right and the power to take and give without conscience. Carl wanted none of it.

But the answers...

_Screw the answers._

They were so close.

_I won't pay the price._

Carl's breath is coming fast, fast as his heart pounds. His muscles twitch with the need to run.

To find the answers.

_No, to tear out their damned throats!_

Carl shakes with rage.

_I'll rip out their throats! Rip off their heads! Let _them _know pain!_

He wants to. He wants to so bad it's tearing him apart, and it hurts. He falls to all fours, but is not crawling. He circles his wife, head hung low, back arched. He feels like an animal, moves with the liquid grace and ease no one scrounging on their hands and knees could possess, because he's not on his hands and knees; he's on all fours. He feels so different, and it hurts him. He is fascinated by what he feels, yet frightened by it. He stops and cringes, trembling, cowering like a kicked dog.

_It hurts so much_...

He wants to cry out, but can only whimper, and it sounds so strange.

He smells everything, hears everything, feels everything. He looks at his wife, but she can't help him. No one can.

_Help me..._

Gibbering laughter slides into his ear and crawls down his back. They think this is funny.

_Ca-rl._ Sing-song now. _Coooommme plllaaayy wiiiittthhh uussssss._

Carl glares defiantly through the pain and terror at the strip of silver horizon.

_Go to hell!_

NSNSNSNS

Pain of an intensity beyond anything mere words could describe. It tore through Kolchak's body like water spilling from a cracked dam, filling every inch of his being, renting him with invisible fangs as though he were nothing more than a piece of meat for starving dogs. He sucked in air until his lungs felt ready to rip, but could not release that air. His back was arched, his hands clawed at the carpet, ripping it to shreds, and his sternum creaked fit to split.

Then the pain abated, but only to a small degree – a _very _small degree. Carl released the pent up breath and rolled onto his side to curl into a ball, one hand wrapped around his chest, the other still clawing desperately at the carpet. He was trying to move, trying to get away. But with every centimeter he moved the pain just followed. It was in his bones, in his brain. It soaked into every cell of him until he was certain that he would soon die.

The pain abated again. Carl still shredded the carpet, gasping. Each breath wasn't enough, no matter how deep or how much. The oxygen just wouldn't take fast enough for his racing blood to carry, and his ribs wouldn't spread to the capacity that his lungs required. Each breath sent more pain tearing through him, radiating from the ribcage to the rest of his skeleton.

The pain receded another degree. The oxygen finally took, and his gasping became ragged, panting breaths. He stopped mutilating the carpet and rolled onto his chest to lay perfectly still. He shook from the remaining pain, and squeezed his eyes until tears rolled out to drip warmly down his face.

It still hurt so much.

He heard, far away, a pounding. But it wasn't his heart. He could hear his heart beating unnaturally fast, but still with a pattern. This other pounding started, then stopped; sometimes fast, sometimes exceedingly loud. And following it was another sound, muffled and garbled because of it.

A voice.

" Carl?"

It didn't sound like them. It sounded human. The pounding intensified.

" Carl! Are you in there! Hey Carl! Come on, open the door, please!"

The voice sounded terrified. Carl tried to respond, but his throat closed up. Instead, he coughed, and felt something warm and thick splatter across his lips. The warm liquid then leaked from the corner of his mouth to drip steadily onto the carpet.

The pain receded again. It was tolerable, but movement was impossible. He listened to his heart as he did before. It was going so fast that he couldn't count the beats. Could a heart beat that fast? His breathing raced just to keep up.

The pounding had stopped, and he heard another noise. Strange clicking sounds.

The pain receded even more. Carl could move. He pulled his arms to his sides, then pushed himself up with a short cry of pain. He heard a rattling sound, like someone trying a doorknob that was locked. Only it wasn't locked, not anymore, and the door flew open.

" Carl!"

Carl looked up, but the room was dark and his vision hazy. A slender form ran over to him and took him by the arm, helping him up onto his knees. Hands then grasped his shoulders to steady him. He planted one arm on the couch, and his other hand on the coffee table to keep himself from toppling forward.

" Carl?" the voice quavered, dripping with icy terror. He knew that voice.

Perri.

Carl momentarily shut his eyes. The pain receded to nothing but an ache now, and taking with it the rapidity of his heart. And the first coherent thought that popped into his mind was, _weird that I didn't scream_. The pain he had just miraculously endured should have had him screaming until he could no longer talk.

" Carl?"

Kolchak looked up. In the growing light of the coming day, he could see the angles of Perri's face, and the whites of her wide, frightened eyes.

He could smell her fear. It entered his lungs brief as deja vu, but he still knew it for what it was. Chemical and profound. But he was soon distracted from it by the foul taste in his mouth. He turned his head toward the table, and leaned to the side to spit a massive glob of blood onto the glass surface.

The broken glass surface, spider-webbed with cracks and a small splatter of blood. He stared at it, both curious and troubled, forgetting all else in a tiny moment.

" Oh, crap, Carl, you're bleeding," came Perri's panic-strained voice to pull him back into the here and now. He turned his head to the right, and saw a dark, wet patch soaked into his shirt along the shoulder. The pain of it, however, was lost to him in a sea of aches that were making him feel violently ill.

" Um, okay, um, wait here," Perri stammered. She rose quickly, rushing into the kitchen, only to return half a second later with a dish cloth. Carl watched her actions out of the corner of his eye without ever turning his head. Needless to say, he felt strangely detached. Not so much numb as indifferent, too exhausted and aching too much to react the way he probably should be by now; in utter panic. But, in a small way, he had been expecting this, what with the pain growing more excruciating by the day. And all he could think on the matter was that he should have made his doctor's appointment sooner.

_Stupid me._

He didn't notice when, with shaking hands, Perri unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, then pulled the shirt back and down to get to his shoulder.

" Sorry," she muttered with a slight grimace. She began wiping some of the blood away, which hurt, but nothing to react over. The cut, or in fact cuts of varying minuscule sizes, extended from where the shoulder curved to the top of the shoulder blade. Perri, again grimacing, placed the cloth against these cuts. It stung. Carl took a deep breath and sighed.

He was tired of pain.

Carl dropped his head and spit more blood onto the already stained carpet. He kept his head lowered as he studied the shredded floor with morbid, troubled fascination. He had not only clawed up the carpet but had viciously scratched up the wood beneath as well. He glanced at his fingers, but the nails weren't even ripped or bloodied.

It was all too strange, and he couldn't fathom it. Neither did he want to try. He was far too tired to care, and wanted only to bask in the sweet relief of a body free of the seemingly endless torment.

He looked at Perri, numbly curious as to how she was holding up. But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the couch with the same wide-eyed expression of horror she had given him on entering. Carl looked as well, and blinked dazedly to see much of the couch ripped to shreds all the way to the padding sticking out like foam guts. The couch wasn't just ruined, it was mutilated, the rips deep and longer than human nails could manage.

" Carl, what happened?" Perri asked.

Everything came crashing down around Carl. The reality that had been hammering at his brain at last tore down the walls of emotionless shock to pour into him and drown him in a flash-flood of realization.

He had done that. He had ripped up the couch, the carpet. He must have rolled off the couch, onto the coffee table.

He did this. But why? How? What was happening?

Carl started shaking. " What the hell?" He snatched his arm away from the couch as though it were poison. He tried to back away from it but the coffee table prevented him from doing so, digging into his side. His vision whirled and his mind spun sickeningly.

" Carl! Hey, Carl, look at me. Look at me!" Two hands placed themselves on either side of his face and forced his head to turn so that he became locked with Perri's gaze. In her eyes, he saw her battle as she harnessed her own fright to focus on Carl.

" Carl, just keep looking at me, all right?" Her voice still had a slight crack to it. " Listen, I think – I think you might be in shock. You need to get to a hospital. I was going to call an ambulance, but if you can walk then I'll just take you there, okay? Can you stand?"

Carl swallowed back a mixture of blood and saliva. " Let me see," he mumbled in a tone so low he didn't even hear it for himself. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he shifted to place both hands on the cracked coffee table and push himself up. Perri helped by hanging onto his arm with one hand, keeping the other pressed to the cloth against his shoulder. Slowly, he rose onto unsteady legs. At first, he wavered, swaying slightly. Then, after a moment and with another deep breath, his own body steadied itself. He felt weak, the kind of weakness born out of muscle fatigue from too much strenuous use. He could stand, but when he walked, he had to take it slow or risk falling. Perri helped by keeping a firm grip on his arm and guiding him to the door. He didn't bother with placing on a jacket or shoes, though he still had on his socks. He just made his methodical way to the door then to Perri's car while the getting was good.

Perri helped him into the passenger seat, then took his left hand and placed it on the cloth.

" Hold it there," she commanded, and hurried around to the drivers side.

Carl stared blankly out the windshield, out beyond hi home to the empty and wild places. He could smell the sand, and the morning moisture dewing on shrubs and gnarled trees.

_What's happening to me?_

NSNSNSNS

_So much for the appointment._

Life was being decidedly ironic to Carl. The day he was finally going in to see what was wrong with him and the worst finally hit, forcing him to do what he had been trying to avoid; a visit to the emergency room.

It was as though the hospital, by some unknown will of its own, had been expecting him. There was hardly anyone in the waiting room. Only five minutes passed before Carl was called in. Only three of the cuts needed stitches and a bandage, the rest had already clotted. And to Carl's lack of surprise, he had bitten his tongue and the inside of his cheek again, which there was little the doctor could do for. Carl's blood pressure was taken, his heart and lungs listened to, all the normal, everyday checkup routines. The only oddity beyond the cuts were misshapen bruises patching his body, dark but not painful.

Then came the tricky part; explaining what had just occurred and been occurring for the past few days. He did it to the best of his ability, but left out the dreams. Those he did not want to explain, not to this stranger.

Carl – redressed - was sitting on the exam table as he talked, and the doctor in a swivel chair, leaning forward with rapt, undivided attention. He was a dark-haired man several years older than Carl, with a lined face that made him seem even older. Every so often, the doctor would jot something down on a clipboard, but nod for Carl to continue.

When Carl finished, the doctor said nothing. But the slightly confused look on the man's face was starting to get Carl worried.

" Well, seizures _might_ explain the bruising. And you say you've never had a history of seizures?" he finally asked.

" Yeah, right. Never."

" What about previous episodes of sleep apnea? Does it run in your family?"

Carl shrugged. " Not really. It started with the, um, seizures."

The doctor nodded with a bemused expression still lined with confusion. " Okay, I'll just say it outright. It sounds strange. But, for all we know, you may have had an existing condition that may have been lying dormant until now. It happens. Have you been under a lot of stress?"

" No, not more than usual."

Again, the doctor nodded. " Well, I'll tell you this much. You're showing signs of anemia. But since your seizures seem more the cause of it than the other way around..." the doctor sighed. " Maybe a scan might reveal something, if it's head related."

_Oh, it's head related all right,_ Carl thought.

" Maybe take some blood, see if some sort of infection is involved. And I think you should stay overnight for observational purposes."

Carl's heart plummeted, and he shifted uncomfortably. But he wasn't about to let some baseless sense of unease dictate his decisions.

He nodded. " Yeah, fine. Whatever it takes to get this to stop."

NSNSNSNS

Carl entered the waiting room with its rows of night-blue plastic chairs bolted to the floor, baskets full of used and dog-eared magazines, the front desk with phones forever ringing and computers softly humming (Carl found it unsettling that he could hear them so clearly), and people moving in and out of doors and corridors. A young female doctor brushed past Carl, and beneath her mild perfume he scented rubbing alcohol, rubber from exam gloves, and the faintest underlining taint of blood. He turned his head away in sickened malaise and swallowed nervously. The regular smells of the hospital wafted in and out mixed with deeper, more minute smells human senses shouldn't have been able to pick up. Plastics, paper, chemicals, various metals, liquids, and of course blood. They drifted like a pulsing wave through Carl's awareness, as though a periodic breeze were carrying them in then out again.

It was making Carl's heart start to pound again, and his skin prickle.

He ignored the smells as best he could, and searched the waiting room. Perri had spotted him first and had already stood wearing an expression of worried anticipation. Carl approached her, walking carefully across the checkered linoleum floor. He still didn't have any shoes.

" Well?" she asked, spreading her hands. " Verdict?"

" I'm going to stay over night," he said. Perri jerked her head back in surprise.

" That all?"

" They want to do some scans, blood tests. The overnight deal is for observations."

" And you're okay with it?" she asked.

Carl stared at her for a moment as he processed his own feelings and thoughts on the matter. No, he wasn't okay with it. In fact, he dreaded it, and yet couldn't even explain to himself why. Perhaps it was the smells of the hospital, or that he would be more trapped in a hospital than his own home. But trapped by what? Where was the danger that his brain kept registering everywhere?

He finally shrugged." What else can I do?"

Perri looked ready to say something, and apparently wanted to, but the words must have kept eluding her.

_She looks scared,_ Carl thought, and caught the faint, chemical oder of fear on the unfelt breeze. _Scared for me?_ Carl was a little taken back by it. Of course she would be spooked after coming in and seeing him spitting blood and unable to move. And though Carl considered her a friend, a part of him had always held the small belief that Perri put up with him more because she had to than because she returned the sentiment. It was an unfair assessment, he knew, but easily maintained since it was what he was used to. He tended to generate more dislike among his fellow man than like.

It had been a while since anyone had shown him genuine concern, and Perri's was too genuine to call it anything else. It brought about in him mixed feelings of gratitude, as well as guilt, and left him just as speechless as her.

" Thanks for bringing me," he said at last to break the stifling silence.

Perri flashed him a wan smile. " Faster than waiting for an ambulance."

" Just out of curiosity, what brought you over to begin with?"

Perri shrugged uncomfortably. " Aw, well, you know. After yesterday I was a little worried and..." she shrugged again, " thought I'd check in on you. I know, it sounds a little fruity..."

Carl shook his head. " No, it doesn't."

" Yeah, well, it does to me, sorry. But, hey, you stayed with me when we thought that hypnotist freak was going to send me on a killing rampage. It's only fair that I return the favor."

A shiver went up Carl's back. Carl had almost been the one to kill her, not the other way around, and it still disgusted him what almost happened. There was no favor for Perri to return.

_Guess she does like me,_ Carl thought; a little in humor, a little out of more guilt.

" How did you get in?" he asked next.

Perri gritted her teeth in a small wince. " I kind of picked the lock. Not a talent I'm proud of, but if comes in handy when you forget your keys or – you know – need to make an emergency entrance."

Carl grinned at this.

" I need another favor," he said.

" Yeah?"

" A ride home to get some stuff. I'm not going to spend the night here in a hospital gown." He looked ponderously down at his sock-covered feet. " And I need some shoes."


	6. Overtaken

A/N: The hospital Carl is staying at is based off of the one I stayed at when I broke my arm. The difference being I was in the children's ward and Carl – obviously – isn't. I couldn't sleep either, mostly because no one would turn off the stupid TV.

Ch. 5

_No rest for the bone-weary_, Carl thought, and was probably the only person in the world happy about it. _No dreams tonight._

He was lying on his stomach on the hospital bed, his head turned so he could stare at the TV hanging in the corner of the large room. He wasn't alone. Far from it. There were eight beds in all, four on each side, and three others occupied by forms dead-still in sleep. To Carl's left was the TV and a window, to the right a door leading to a bathroom that also contained showers. And around the corner came the low, soft murmurs of the night-shift gathered around a table Carl had seen coming in; either having a midnight snack or playing card games.

A thin wire taped to his chest trailed from beneath his shirt and connected with a small, silent heart monitor at the end of the bed. If Carl freaked, the monitor would alert the on-duty nurse at the desk rather than wake up every single soul in the hospital with its spastic beeps. Carl could have had the wire clipped to his finger, but since the seizures apparently involved him clawing everything to shreds, the doctor thought it wise to forgo it.

Every time Carl took a deep breath, he could feel the wire dig into his skin. Lying on his back would alleviate the discomfort, but Carl was relying on that discomfort to keep him awake.

Agreeing to stay over night, he had soon realized, had been a bad move. Chances were good that if he thrashed around tonight they would strap him down, and if the seizures were dream related and not the product of a tumor or something else, then he was in real trouble. A quick background check, interviews with a few co-workers (some of whom didn't like him) and he would be committed for sure. Then he really would be trapped.

The chill sensation of fear prickled up and down Carl's spine, and he gripped the pillow tight until his hands shook.

_I Shouldn't have done this_.

Carl inhaled a slow, steady breath, then exhaled. He did it again and again against the small uncomfortable twinge it caused his ribs. The slightest rise in his heart rate and the nurse would be all over him with questions and a needle full of sedative. He focused his thoughts back to the movie flickering on the TV. _American Werewolf in London. _Each scene change from dark to light made him squint against the lancing pain it caused his eyes. The sound was low, but Carl could still hear it clearly as though it were turned up to half volume.

The movie was supposed to be morbidly funny, but for Carl it made him sad.

_The guy's got the ability to become something powerful, and all he can do is kill with it._ _He has no control_.

The things Carl sought out did. He knew they did, like the Ghost Man. They could do something unique, and their choice was to use it for the cause of suffering.

_Bastards_.

An alert scrolled beneath the bottom of the screen. A woman, aged thirty, had gone missing from her home at seven pm. The family, who was present at the time, had witnessed nothing...

Carl lifted his head at this. The alert went on to describe the woman; dark brown hair -shoulder length – blue eyes, about five-ten and one hundred and thirty pounds. The alert scrolled twice, then vanished. Carl dropped his suddenly heavy head back onto the pillow. He felt tired, drained, as though reading the alert had taken more energy than he possessed.

The Ghost Man took her. There was no denying it. The heat of anger radiated from his chest to warm his neck and face.

_Ghost Man needs to go to hell_, he thought bitterly, then sighed. His mind began to drift into mundane and pointless thoughts. The TV and the blue-shadowed room around him blurred from loss of focus.

He smelled something strange, yet familiar. Sand. And beneath that, blood... Rage shook him... Rage burned in his brain, his bones...

Carl snapped his eyes open, pushed himself up onto his hands, and gasped, filling his suddenly starved lungs with as much oxygen as he could. Muscles twitched and pulled as though trying to detach from his bones, and his upper spine curved like the arching back of a spitting cat.

" Mr. Kolchak? Mr. Kolchak, I need you to relax..."

He felt one hand grip his shoulder, another on his back between the shoulder blades rubbing up and down in a way that was more agitating to Carl than comforting. He didn't want to be touched, it felt restraining, but his body had gone too rigid for him to pull away from that touch.

He was in pain, but not the terrible agony of the other night, and it was quick to leave him. He dropped back onto the bed in a fit of shakes and pants with the hands still on his back and shoulder. Then the hand moved from his back to take his wrist. Fingers pressed down on his pulse for a minute. Carl turned his head to watch the nurse, and in the blue flickering light on the TV that angled her dark-skinned face, saw her alarm.

" Your heart-rate's very high, Mr. Kolchak. I'm going to need to give you something to help you relax." She lowered his arm back on the bed and turned to go, but was stopped when Carl's hand shot out to grab her arm.

" No!"

The nurse turned in surprise, trying to pull away. So Carl released her, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

" No, don't," he desperately begged. " Please don't. My heart will slow down again, it always does, I swear. But I can't go to sleep. It always happens when I'm asleep, please..."

Carl was shivering, but not from cold, fatigue, or pain. He was frightened, and the nurse saw this. She stared at him, worried, confused, even a little frightened herself, but relented to his pleas with a nod.

" All right. But if this happens again I won't have a choice." She placed her hand back on his shoulder and leaned in a little to study his face. " Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?"

Carl shook his head no then slowly lowered himself back onto his chest. The nurse gave his arm a reassuring pat, then she left. Carl turned his head to look at the TV. The alert was scrolling across the screen again, so he turned away again. He didn't want to see it, couldn't stand it.

He absently fingered the tears in the pillow that had been overlooked in the shadows by the nurse. Carl didn't even try to figure how he had made them.

NSNSNS

Nothing. No tumors, no lesions, infections, or anything.

Kolchek wasn't surprised, but neither was he relieved. With physical ailments ruled out, that left only the possibility of mental instability. And Carl was at the point of agreeing with it.

He just didn't feel right. Not in the way of being ill, tired, hungry, and plagued by various pains – all of which he was – but something more underlying that he couldn't describe even to himself; not in a single, summarizing word at any rate. It could very well be the product of no sleep and no food, since he felt wired and unsteady. But if that were the case, then he wouldn't be as aware and awake as he was in a way that he could never be caught off guard. When morning came, gray and cold, he had known the nurse was coming two minutes before she came, and had pushed himself up in the bed to wait for her.

He was now pacing before that bed, fully dressed in the clothes he had brought from home because he had no intentions of staying another night. Dr. Everett was standing across from him with his arms folded, watching Carl with the controlled patience most doctor's practice when they think a patient is being unreasonable.

" Most doctors would label what happened to you as the product of night terrors," he said. " But I've dealt with patients who suffer from night terrors, and I've yet to meet any who wake up suffocating and with heart rates that exceed the norm. Not to frighten you, Mr. Kolchak, but frankly I'm surprised you're up and walking around. You also said that you hadn't fallen asleep when this new seizure hit...?"

" Not fully, no," Carl said absently. Physically, his body wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and give into the sleep he had denied himself. But his mind, wired and inhumanly aware, wouldn't have let itself shut down so easily. The two side battled relentlessly to leave him feeling so on edge that even the slightest sound – the squeak of a shoe or the cough of another patient – made him flinch.

" That's why I'm ruling out night terrors," Everett continued. " People act out nightmares in a night terror, they don't wake up from them because of pain or seizures. I really think you should stay another night, or at least go to a sleep clinic. If we can determine the cause, we might be able to medicate."

Someone shifted in one of the beds, jarring the rail, and both Carl's heart and shoulders twitched. He looked at Dr. Everett, and the doctor shifted uncomfortably. Carl was agitated, irritated, confused, scared – all congealing into the single emotion of anger. He wasn't mad at the doctor, or even the hospital. It was all just frustration, but escalating beyond a controllable point, and he knew that all he was feeling was being betrayed by his expression, or the doctor would not have become so suddenly uncomfortable – much like Perri had that day at the fair.

" I might also add," the Doctor said undeterred, " that you are sleep deprived, becoming malnourished, and because of it you are anemic. What ever is going on, it's wearing you down. And if it keeps going... could kill you. Definitely if these pains you keep experiencing grow progressively worse. The human body can only stand so much, and yours is taking a literal beating."

Carl looked away to the floor. Of course the doctor was right. But Carl couldn't do it. He couldn't do any of it, stay another night or check into a sleep clinic. He knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that it was all pointless. All that was happening to him was not the product of stress or some hidden condition. Knowing this, but being unable to give a name to what was occurring, was what scared him. Had it a name, then it might have a cure, a solution, since that meant it would be known.

There were no curse for the unusual. The only course Kolchak could take was deeper research into the realm that he knew best, focusing on dreams as he should have done a long time ago.

But what to tell the doctor?

" Mr. Kolchak?"

Kolchak looked up at him, his anger diminished. " I need to think about it."

Everett sighed and shook his head. " I should probably have you committed," he mumbled.

Carl tensed and swallowed nervously.

Everett looked up to meet the reporter's gaze. " I want you to come in tomorrow. Have someone bring you. I'll prescribe you some sleeping pills, but if you don't feel safe taking them then don't. If you end up back in this emergency room, I'm committing you to this hospital for deeper observation. If you know someone you can stay with, then stay with them in case an ambulance should be called. If not, at least alert someone who can check in on you." The doctor shook his head again. " This is a bad idea, Mr. Kolchak, really bad..."

Carl looked away again. " I know."

" Apparently you don't or you wouldn't be doing this."

_I don't even know what it is I'm doing_, Carl thought.

Acting on some primal, fear-driven instinct is what it felt like. But it sounded ridiculous.

NSNSNS

" You're crazy, Kolchak," Perri said for the fourth time in a row. Carl could only nod again in agreement. Traffic was heavy, so the going was slow, giving Perri enough time for a verbal beating on Kolchak.

" Don't get me wrong, and nothing against you, but I've always kind of pegged you for the type who wouldn't listen to his doctor," she said. " But Carl, geez! At this very moment, you look like the walking dead, and about to keel over for a second time. You're sick, Carl, you _need_ to be in a hospital."

Carl let out a shuddering breath. " I know."

" I should just turn this car around right now and drop your skinny, half-starved carcass back where I picked you up."

" Please don't."

Perri glanced at Carl, and Carl witnessed her visibly soften. She was scared, and so spouting, and Carl cringed with the guilt of it. She was right in every way, but Carl just couldn't do it. He did not want to be at the hospital, or anywhere for that matter. No place was safe anymore.

" Carl?"

Carl looked at her. The anger was gone from her, leaving only the deep-rooted concern that only a true friend would show.

" What's going on?"

Carl blinked tiredly, his eyes dry as though sand had blasted them. " I don't know." He turned to look out the window, squinting against the flash of sunlight off windows and windshields. They were in the city walled, it felt like, by buildings of concrete, steel, and glass that radiated white flames like individual suns. At least, to Carl, that's what it looked like. It was hurting his eyes, burning into his brain so that he had to look away to the dark floor.

" I mean to find out, though," he added.

" Sure you don't want me to stay, keep an eye on you?"

Carl's mind flashed to the images of the rent-up couch, shredded carpet, and gashed pillow. " It might be safer..." he looked at her, and she glanced at him, " if you didn't."

" Well, then expect a call every twenty minutes. I'm not leaving you alone in this. You shouldn't have to be alone in this."

Carl smiled at her, not a smirk or a grin, but a true smile of heart-felt gratitude. He didn't want to be alone, but even more he didn't want to put anyone in danger.

" Thanks."

Perri smiled back.

NSNSNS

" The body of Elise Overton was found within the grounds of the Rolling Hills Country club where she was said to be a member..."

Brown hair, blue eyes, Carl knew the woman from her description the other night, not by her name.

" Elise was discovered by the tennis courts with her heart removed..."

Carl looked down at the floor where he was sitting with knees drawn up and hands folded loosely around them. The couch loomed like a slumbering monster at his back, though hidden by a layer of blankets. He needed to drag it out to the dump since it was obvious he would never sit in it again.

But his wife had picked out that couch.

" In a bizarre twist, Candace Haverton was reported missing late this afternoon, two hours after the discovery of Elise's body. Police have yet to confirm if this new kidnapping has any relation to the Ghost Man..."

Carl looked up at the TV. The woman was young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, with straight copper-colored hair that went past her shoulders and a heart-shaped face. She looked sweet, kindly, the type of person who made friends easily and liked to make friends with everyone. The reporter said that her husband had reported her missing.

Carl looked back to the floor. Without a glance at the TV, he leaned forward and shut it off.

_Bastard_.

He just stared at the carpet as though staring would actually will the Ghost Man into Carl's presence, where Carl could cut out _his_ heart and let him know how it felt. The fact that the man was now moving this quickly to snag victims meant that his technique was working better and better, probably advancing with each killing. He was becoming expert at his mental trick, and could kill ten people in a day if he wished. No one would know him, see him, or even hear him. He was, in every sense of the word, immune to the natural senses. There would be no catching him.

Carl despised him for that with the same amount of hatred he harbored for the thing that had taken his wife.

But as with the creature that had killed his wife, there was little Carl could do except research, research, research. It's what a good reporter did after all.

Carl pushed himself up against stiff, protesting bones that popped and creaked. He wavered slightly, and his hand shot to the TV to steady himself. He half-walked, half-staggered toward his study where he could hear the soft hum of his computer. Along the way, he shut off the lights, unable to take the drilling glare anymore.

_Candace is going to die_, he thought miserably. _But, hey, so am I in a few more days._ He had begun his research on dreams and the sleeping world as soon as he got home, but kept having to take periodic breaks when the computer screen pounded a headache into his skull.

Sometimes, a dream could be a message, or a portent, or even a form of precognition. The way to interpret dreams was so varied that Carl didn't even know where to start. As a small step, he knew better than to listen to anything Freud had to say on dreams. The guy was way too hung up on sex and gender, and Carl was pretty certain his dreams had absolutely _nothing_ to do with either.

One notion that had caught his attention was the belief born from several cultures that dreams could be used as a form of communication, either for the living, the dead, or even both. Carl liked the idea, but knew better than to put all his focus on it.

Nothing he had researched mentioned anything about waking up in a state of inhuman agony having torn apart everything around him. Demon possession, on the other hand, had numerous accounts of such incidents, which only added to the fear that had formed into a mountain in Carl's heart. Demon possession could explain a lot.

Carl's vision spun, and he faltered, reaching out to catch himself on the wall. He was shaking with hunger, and unable to stand up straight as though his body were being filled with led. He kept his hand on the wall as he went, dragging each dead-weight foot. It was as if everything were finally catching up to him – his lack of sleep, lack of food, and the seizures – all in a single moment. Even the sharp awareness that had been keeping him going all day was wearing thin, and his head felt light and detached, caught in a waking dream. Without even thinking about it, instead of heading to his study, he veered and made his drunken way into his room.

He stopped, shaking his head to try and clear it. Coffee would have helped, if his stomach had been willing to take it.

Initially, he was screwed.

He entered his room, and as he did, slowly sank to the floor until he was crawling, then slowly sank again to his chest. He didn't even have the strength to pull himself along the few inches he had left to the bed. He lay on the floor in the darkness, staring at nothing, and blinking heavy eyelids. He took a deep breath, and let out a shuddering sob.

_Please, no, no!_

His eyelids slid shut. From far away came the chirping ring of a phone, but it faded until Carl knew nothing.


	7. Instinct

Ch. 6

_Ca-arl, Ca-arl, Ca-arl, Ca-arl..._

They wouldn't shut up, chanting over and over in that sing-song voice like bigger children taunting a smaller child in the school yard.

_Cooommmeeee ppppllllllaaaaaaaayyyyyyy wwwwwwwiiiiiiiittttthhhh uuuuuuusssss!_

_Screw you!_

Carl circles his wife, feeling strange, yet strong in his defiance. He does not want the answers, not like this.

What he wants is an end to it, somehow.

Even if he has to die.

And he would die, defying and fighting, taunting them in return. If they wanted him so much, then why didn't they come to him? Why did they hide and beckon? Were they afraid?

_Cowards..._

_Ca-arl... Cooommmeee ppplllaaayyy._

_No! Never! Go away! Leave me alone! Leave us alone!_

Something hisses. _Ssshhhee's dddeeaadd._

Carl cringes, and a sob hitches in his throat. Yes, she is dead, but so what? They still weren't having her, or him.

_Do-on't fffiiigghhtt._

Carl covers his ears, but he can still hear the gibbering whispers. He turns his back, despite the danger he knows it presents. Yet he doesn't care. Let them come, tear him apart, or him tear them apart.

He wants to tear the thing apart that killed his wife. He wants to tear the Ghost Man for the suffering he likes to cause. He wants to tear, rent, mutilate – not for the sake of revenge or self-appeasement – to make them stop. He just wants it to stop.

He feels strange again, altered and unusual. His heavy body forces him to his hands and knees, but not to crawl like a groveling human. He hurts again as the strangeness burns through him, bringing to him the sense of liquid motion with each movement of his limbs smooth, even and strong. It frightens him because of the pain and how odd it is. He cowers again, whimpers, begging for it to stop.

_What is this? Why is this happening? Make it stop, just make it stop!_

_Ca-arl, Ca-arl..._

Carl cringes again, trembling in terror and in rage.

_Shut-up!_

Throaty cackles send shivers up Carl's unusually supple spine. They sound closer now, and he knows it is because he has his back turned.

The smell of blood permeates everything, and his rage increases. He wants to scream, howl, cry out. It's too much, all too much. The hisses and whispers are at his back, in his ear. They are coming. They know they have him. They can creep upon him now that his back is turned. The blood-stench fills his airway, packing his lungs. He stares, unblinking, into the endless waste of desert where sand dances in unfelt winds, winding into dust-devils then fading mere moments after birth.

Life and death in the blink of an eye. They find it amusing, Carl knows. Death is funny to them, a necessity for their own purpose, and a joke.

He hates them, and hates them, and hates them.

_I hate you._

_Ca-arl._

His name is hissed, and the heat of fetid breath brushes against his neck. Carl arches his back like a bristling dog, the muscles in his shoulders and legs bunching in readiness. The breath pours foul and continuous down his back. Somewhere, far beyond seeing but not beyond hearing, a woman screams. Another dying beyond comprehension. Saliva drips from jaws that are not his own, yet still his.

_Why the hell not?_

Saliva drips from another's jaw, onto his back.

Faster than a man can blink, Carl whips around and lunges – jaws wide, and fangs tearing.

NSNSNS

And then Carl was in his room. He knew it was his room. He could see the familiar shapes and their small details. Moonlight spilled like silver over everything, and Carl's eyes absorbed every iota of that light until the room was as plain to him as though the artificial lights were on. He saw his bed, dresser, the mirror over the dresser, and the face of his wife and himself in the picture on the night-table. He saw it all with unnatural clarity, but accepted it.

He had more important things to do than wonder.

He turned, and trotted out of the room...

_Trotted?_

_No, no time to think on it._

He entered the living room, moving with more silence and more fluidity than a cat on the hunt. He came into the kitchen and heard the clack of claws on the tiled floor. He moved to the sliding glass door leading to the back and halted at the phantasmal reflection staring back at him with moon-lit yellow eyes. He saw a thing, a creature, but accepted it as he had accepted everything else that he was experiencing. No time to do otherwise. It was a dog-like thing, similar to a picture he saw once of an animal called a Tasmanian tiger that was now extinct. The fur was short and close to the body like skin, dark in color but striped in a different shade. The snout was long and narrow, and the ears stiff and pointed. The body itself was large, maybe even larger than a wolf, and lean with visible ribs and sinewy muscles that twitched and rippled with the slightest movement.

The paws were strange.

_No, not paws, half-hands._

They were long-fingered, with a workable thumb, and tipped with curved claws like scythes.

_What is this? No, no time..._ But why he had no time, he could not say. He just knew. Everything was instinctual to him now, and he knew better than to disregard it.

He flowed when he moved with a grace no dog ever possessed, or even a cat. Say for the light tap of the claws, he made no sound, and felt ghost-like because of it. Stopping before the sliding door again, he shivered.

He reached up, and flipped the latch to the door, then slid it open with a flick of his hand-like paw. He slipped out into the cool night, and smells filled his nostrils. Animals, exhaust, plants, moisture, something he was fairly certain was his own scent emanating from the house... and in the distance, he caught blood. No time to think. It was time to go. Time to rid himself of that smell.

Without another thought, Carl, or the thing that carried his consciousness, launched into a run that had the wind roaring through his ears as claws sent up a spray of dirt and sand. Everything around him became a blur as he fled from civilization into the wilderness that felt right to him, as though it all belonged to him now. The breath never burned his throat or seared his lungs. Its passage was steady, as was the thumping of his heart that resounded like a drum in his keen ears. The led-heavy fatigue of weariness and hunger seemed like a dream to him now. It was as though the body he possessed could never know such weaknesses, and the thought made him delight in it.

He ran faster, if it was possible. He had somewhere he needed to be, and marking the path was the unseen taint of blood in the air. He followed it like a rope, turning when the smell weakened, whipping around trees, shrubs, rocks, or whatever else got in his way. Time held no existence for him, and soon he found himself deep into the desert.

He was almost there. The smell of blood was strong, and intermingled with the chemical stench of fear, and the human stench of sweat. Then he heard a scream.

" Help me! Why won't you help me!"

Carl caught the distant lights of fires dotting the night. Music was blasting loud enough to wake the dead, and forms dancing or milling about the fires or sitting before tents were black masses against the amber glow.

But Carl didn't care about that. His destination was much closer. He veered, just a little, until he saw two lone figures several yards from the masses. The female was on the ground, trying to back away. The other loomed over the scrambling form, slowly approaching, taking his time because he had all the time in the world. The woman turned her head to the partying throngs and screamed and sobbed with all she had.

" Why won't you help me! Please! Help me!"

But they wouldn't help her, because they didn't even know she was there. The man wouldn't let them know.

But Carl knew, because he had smelled the blood. The man had never hid his scent, because he had never needed to.

The man flipped and caught something in his hand that flashed red light from the fires.

A knife. He was also smirking.

" Not gonna work, bitch," he said so confidently. He kept stalking toward the woman, and she scurried back with a tear-slicked face.

_Don't call her that!_ But no words came out of Carl's mouth, only a throaty, guttural snarl.

The man turned. The dog-thing that was Carl roared, and leaped with jaws gaping and fangs bared.

" No!" the man screamed, but it was cut short. Carl, or the thing Carl was now, was on the man. He tore into him, biting, gnashing, and clawing. Blood filled not only his scent but his mouth and his vision. Rage burned through his screaming blood, and his heart was like the crash of thunder. Flesh split within his teeth, bones snapped, and the man's cries became liquid gurgles of agony.

_Do not touch her! Ever!_

When the man finally stopped struggling, Carl's creature body stopped tearing. He had the man's arm in his jaw that was warm and sticky with blood. He opened his jaw and let the man's limp, broken body drop with a thump to the ground. Looking down at the man's torn face and sightless staring eyes, recognition struck Carl like a hammer.

He knew this man. Or, at least, had seen him before.

He was a young man, heavy-build, stringy brown hair... The image of him filled Carl's mind. The man crossing the street, one of the ones who had looked at him.

Carl heard a sob. Numbly, he looked up and turned his yellow eyes to the woman. Young, heart-shaped face a twisted mask of terror and sorrow. She was wearing a dress of flower-patterned material, but it was soaked with blood that originated from a wound on her arm. When Carl looked at her, she feebly tried to back away, choking out a cry of exhausted terror.

The chemical scent of fear was strong on her. He could hear her heart pounding. Beneath that, small and steady, he heard another sound, another heart, though there was no one else around. It was a tiny sound, and would have been overlooked if Carl had not caught it. And he knew, instinctively as with everything else, that this woman was pregnant.

It shocked Carl so much that he could not move. He stared at her, wonderingly, and in his haze of distortion, the face of the woman – for one brief moment – took on the lovely face of his wife.

Even in this strange body, tears still burned in his eyes, spilling down his canine face.

_If only._

He whimpered, then turned away, facing the direction he had come.

_If only._

He leaped into a bounding run, tearing across the open wastes in a cloud of torn up sand. His heart beat painfully, and tears flew from his yellow, moon-lit eyes.

_If only..._


	8. Awake

Ch. 7

" Carl! Carl, hey!"

The voice was familiar. That was a first.

Like a swimmer caught in an undercurrent, Carl pulled and struggled through the thick mire of darkness congealing in his mind. His awareness came to him inch by inch, moving with the consistency of mud. First came the voice louder than the sounds ricocheting through his brain. Next came sensation; pressure on his shoulder, on his chest. He wanted to open his eyes but the lids felt too heavy. The pressure on his shoulders increased.

" Carl!"

He winced. The sound pierced his ears sharp as a nail. Physically he wanted to slip back into the darkness where his body did not feel so heavy and pained. Mentally, he was desperate to get out before the darkness suffocated him.

" Hey!"

He winced again. Finally, his eyelids peeled themselves apart allowing in only a slit of light. He blinked and opened his eyes the rest of the way, then immediately tensed almost habitually for what he knew would come next.

But it should have already come. At the moment, he felt absolutely nothing except for the grip on his shoulders. Playing it safe, he carefully inhaled a slow breath, then released it in a sigh of utter relief.

" Carl?"

He was lying on his chest, and felt the rough texture of the carpet beneath his hands. The pressure on his shoulders became a pulling.

" Carl, get up! Come on, please!"

Carl finally conceded and began pushing himself up. His arms shook beneath his weight, and he would have dropped back to the floor if the hands gripping his shoulders hadn't been doing most of the work for him. He was pulled to his knees, wavered, and nearly toppled again, but someone was holding him up. He was shaking – not with cold or fear – but with the body-draining fatigue of over-exerted muscles coupled with the hallow emptiness in his stomach.

The pressure on his shoulders shifted to the front so that he was being pushed up rather than pulled back. Carl lifted his gaze and looked into Perri's face. Her expression was one of hesitant fear that would topple into panic at any moment should even the slightest thing go wrong.

" Carl?" she asked again in a quavering voice.

" Hey Perri."

Perri's expression melted into a smile, and her relief was palpable. " Oh, man, Carl, you really scared the hell out of me," she said with a weak chuckle. " Are you all right? Any pain?"

Carl shook his head in the negative. Except for the ache of sore muscles and the even sharper pain of hunger, he felt relatively fine.

Perri sighed in another clear-cut display of relief. " Crap, Carl. You really freaked me out, you know that? I was ready to call in an ambulance. Are you sure you're all right? You're shaking."

Carl stared at her in silence for a moment, contemplating on what it was he was feeling – or in fact _wasn't _feeling, which was nauseas.

" I'm – I'm hungry," he said, perplexed.

Perri nodded, her smile seemingly forever sculpted onto her face. " Good. Great, actually. I'm not a doctor, but considering you haven't been able to eat for a couple of days... Being hungry has to mean something right. Listen, um, you stay right here. I'm going to get you some milk – that shouldn't be too bad."

She helped him move over to the bed and lean with his back against it. He might have been able to do it himself, since the fatigue wasn't so bad now, but he still didn't trust himself. He felt dazed, as though floating between something – light-headed yet still in control. Memories slowly began seeping back into his brain, tid-bits of realizations that he had been ignoring up until now.

Perri stood to go get the milk.

Carl massaged one eye with the palm of his hand. " I'm supposed to go to the doctor today," he said by way of recalling.

" Guess I'm driving you again," he heard Perri reply in good humor. It felt relaxing to hear the smile in her voice.

She came back a minute later, carrying a glass of milk in one hand. " Sorry about your lock... again," she said sheepishly. She handed the milk off to Carl. " I'd drink it slow, if I were you. The thing is, if I'd just checked around first I wouldn't have had to pick the lock. But, dumb me, got a little overexcited."

Carl stared numbly at the milk. " Checked around?"

" Yeah, your sliding door was open. I guess you must have opened it and forgotten or something."

Carl's entire body went cold all over, and his heart thudded.

" Open?"

" Yeah, open. Now hurry up and drink so I can take you to the doctor."

Carl took an obliging drink, clenching his fist to stop it from shaking despite his whole frame being wracked by shivering. Perri didn't let him drink the whole thing, since people who'd been going hungry for a while weren't supposed to just jump right back into eating. She helped him up, and kept one hand on his arm as they headed out the front to Perri's car. It was like yesterday all over again, but without the panic and uncertainty... at least for Perri.

Outside, the sky was still a deep indigo fading at the horizon to gray. Because of her brighter mood, once inside and with the car started, Perri switched on the radio. But instead of music it was a news interruption.

" Candace Haverton was discovered alive by a group of Teenagers from Aversin High on a camping trip about two hours ago, and she is reported to be in fair condition..."

Perri turned the volume up slightly. " Hey, good news for once."

Carl tensed, curling his fingers so that they dug into the seat.

" Also discovered was the body of a man whose name has yet to be released. Sources indicate that the man had been found mutilated. According to Haverton, the man had been about to stab her when he was suddenly attacked by what appeared to be a very large animal..."

" Stop the car..." Carl gasped.

" Perri's gaze flicked back and forth from him to the road. " What, I..."

" Stop the car!"

Perri pulled the car over to the shoulder, and before she was even fully stopped Carl burst out, falling to the gritty ground on his hands and knees. He heaved, vomiting the only food he had been able to get down for days. When he finished, he wiped his mouth, then dropped his head with eyes closed, taking long, steadying breaths.

_Can't, can't, can't, can't be, can't..._

He heard the crunch of Perri's footsteps approaching from behind.

" I-I guess we spoke too soon," she said with a nervous laugh. Carl dug his fingers into the dirt as he began shaking, again. He felt Perri place her hand on his back, and found its feel – the reality of it – something to concentrate on and focus his awareness.

" It's all right, Carl. You'll be all right."

Carl convulsively stiffened his fingers to stop clawing the earth. " I hope so."

NSNSNSNS

A Day and a half later

The hospital wasn't such a bad place without all the smells and noise. In fact, it was almost peaceful, and Carl didn't mind so much being in it.

He, Perri, and Jain followed the nurse down the sterile-looking corridor to the private room where Candace was staying. Candace's initial report on what had happened to her (more like wild ranting according to the nurse) had been a one time thing. After that, she had passed out from shock and loss of blood. Yesterday, she had still been recovering. Today, she was wide-awake and lucid, but that did not necessarily mean that she would be up for talking. But since she had spoken to the police without incident, the doctor had seen no harm in letting a reporter or two have a try (though the family was apprehensious). Any signs of emotional break down during the questions, or if the family member present didn't like where the questioning was going, then it was over.

As they made their way down the hall, Perri flicked her eyes in Carl's direction every so often. Carl was supposed to be taking it easy. He was supposed to be at home sleeping and slipping back into the normal routine of having three meals a day. The dreams might have stopped, but their effect still lingered as mild aches in his joints and sore muscles. He was thinner, but not in any way that stood out to the naked eye or that was considered unhealthy. Carl was already a fairly slender guy. The only notice taken was when Perri had given him a pat on the back, following it up with some comment on being able to feel his ribs a little too easily.

Carl felt fine, but feeling fine had nothing to do with why he had wanted to come.

He was still trying to figure that part out. Truthfully, the closer they got to Candace's room, the more his heart slowed to tepid beats. He was getting nervous.

_Will she know me_? It sounded ridiculous, but it didn't feel ridiculous.

" In here," the nurse said, pointing to the room. She then went in first to announce the arrival of the three reporters. The nurse then waved them in. Perri entered first, then Carl and finally Jain. Candace was sitting up with the help of the raised bed. Next to her, sitting stiffly in a chair with his fingers entwined with the fingers of his wife, was the woman's husband. He was young, but tall, with broad shoulders and a somewhat heavy build. His head was shaved, and he was wearing an army green shirt tucked into some frayed jeans. Everything about him spoke military.

Mr. Haverton eyed the reporters sternly, pouring out a silent warning that they had better not upset his wife in any form or fashion.

Carl turned his attention to Candace, and swallowed nervously.

He remembered her. The face – heart-shaped, pale, and dry. No more tears of terror. Her arm was bandaged and clean of blood, and the flowery dress was gone.

That didn't stop it all from flooding back in a tidal wave that threatened to suffocate Carl.

_Blood, sand, night, screams, fires, knife, more blood, shattered bones, ripped flesh... the pain of 'if only'._

Bile rose in Carl's throat, filling his mouth with a bitter taste that made him want to spit, as though blood still lingered. His chest tightened, his throat closed off, and he had to look away, so looked at the wall to the left.

" Mrs. Haverton, I'm Perri Reed," Perri said, breaking the silence. She introduced Carl and Jain, but Carl barely heard it. The images would not stop flashing through his brain.

" We're from the Beacon, and we were wondering if we might ask you a few questions. Nothing too much, I hope, but enough to get a clear picture of what happened. First off, you told police that the man who had taken you was the same man that was labeled the Ghost Man?"

Candace cleared her throat. " Um, yes."

" May I ask why?"

She cleared it again. " He kept saying that... um... he was going to cut out – out my heart."

" Okay then. How was it that he took you? You were at home..."

The room went silent for a moment. Carl chanced a glance at Candace, and saw her forehead wrinkled in consternation. she opened her mouth, shaking her head.

" I – I'm not sure. It was strange. I thought it was my husband who came into the room. He asked me to come outside, to the back, because he wanted to show me something. But when I went, he wasn't there. That's when I was grabbed from behind. A bag was put over my head. I screamed..."

At this point, she faltered. Mr. Haverton squeezed her hand and glared at Perri. Perri, however, was looking at Carl with raised eyebrows.

Carl couldn't even give her so much as a ' I told you so' look. It didn't matter now, none of it did because it was over.

Perri looked back at Candace. " One more question, if it's all right."

Candace nodded.

" How you escaped. You said that some kind of animal had saved you?"

Candace nodded. " Yes."

Carl tensed, his heart began to hammer, and sweat ran cold down his spine.

Candace smiled a nervous, false smile. " It's weird, but I remember that part the most. I couldn't see it too well, since it was so dark. But I remember it's eyes. Kind of like yellow full moons. I want to say it was a coyote, but it was way too big to be a coyote. Maybe a wolf or something. It was just really big."

Carl's stomach churned, and he shivered.

" It – um – it attacked the man. Killed him..." tears threatened to spill from her eyes. " It was horrible. I thought I was dead too, and that it would go for me next. But it didn't. It looked at me for what felt like forever, then turned and ran off. So I ran to those campers. That dog or whatever it was saved my life. And, I hope you don't mind me sayin', but I'm kind of a religious person, and I have to say that that was a miracle if I ever saw one. It scared me, but there was nothing evil about that creature."

At that, Carl looked directly at Candace. Tears fell freely down her cheeks, but she was smiling.

" It saved me," she said again, reinforcing the words, unknowingly driving it home to Carl's brain.

_It saved her._

I s_aved her._

_I became something, could do something, and I saved her._

Carl stared at her, dumbstruck, confused, both frightened and amazed. Candace did not notice since she was still talking, telling about how the campers had driven her to hospital and all that.

When she finished, Perri smiled. " Thank you, Mrs. Haverton, that's all we wanted to know. I'm glad you're all right."

Perri and Jain headed from the room, but Carl lingered. Both Mr. and Mrs. Haverton looked at him as though noticing him for the first time.

" How's your baby?" he asked, out of no where, it being the first and only question to pop into his mind.

Candace blinked in surprise. " Um, fine. The baby's going to be fine." she then squinted at him. " Do I know you?"

Now it was Carl's turn to blink in surprise, but immediately shook his head. " No, I don't think we've met."

Candace smiled, and it was a bright and warm smile. " I'm sorry. You're right. You don't look familiar. It's just... a feeling, I guess. Like deja-vu, you know?"

" Yeah, I do know... I'm glad you're all right, you and your baby."

Before Candace could say anything, Carl slipped out of the room. Perri and Jain were waiting for him in the hallway, both staring at him incredulously.

" How did you know she was pregnant?" Perri asked.

For the first time in what felt like a long while, Carl grinned. " Reporter's instinct."

Perri cocked her head back and furrowed her brow. " O-kay." She then grinned in return. " Nice to have the old Carl back. I kind of missed the cryptic remarks."

" You sure?"

Perri, still smiling some, nodded. " More than you know."

It was a heartfelt reply, saying more with tone than with words.

" Thanks," he replied.

He was still worried, nervous. But not afraid.

NSNSNSNSNS

A/N: One more tiny chapter to go.


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

_That was it. One night, one moment in my life, probably only seconds long and then done. Since then; no dreams, no changing, no inexplicable instincts taking over. It might as well have been a dream..._

_Don't get me wrong. I know it wasn't. I'm not naïve. The proof's like a slap in the face._

_Sometimes – I can still taste the blood. Lucky for humanity, I hate the taste even more than the smell._

_It's been weeks now, and the story of the Ghost Man is nothing but a clipped article in a scrapbook (or pinned to a wall). He really is a ghost now, probably burning in hell._

_Yes, I believe in hell. I survived a piece of it._

_I can't tell you what it was, what it was all about. A test, maybe? Did I pass, did I fail? Candace lived and the Ghost man died. I saved two lives._

_But the blood, and the screams ending because the guy was choking on that blood... Not a fun thing to recall... They flash into my head, and slink into my dreams. The Ghost Man needed to be stopped – but like that? I'm not a violent man. I don't want to be like _them

_Them. Is this what they had wanted? The violence? The blood? Maybe I should have kept fighting the change, let the agony of it kill me..._

_But I had saved her life. Not the woman I had wanted to save, but a woman who still needed saving. That counts for something. It means something. And sometimes, when the images overwhelm me and the blood-taste fills my mouth, I see her face._

_No, not Candace. I saw another face that night. It returns to me sometimes, and she is smiling. In my dreams, she tells me that everything will be all right. _

_I miss her._

_It's a redundant statement, but I'll say it anyways._

_I miss her._

_If only... but not soon enough._

_NSNSNS_

_My secret scares me. Its implications, its possibilities. I don't trust it. I don't trust myself. _

_So what do I do?_

_It's a dirty secret. So maybe I'll keep it for a little longer, or for as long as I can. Maybe one day I'll tell Perri – when she's more ready._

_When I'm more ready._

_When I understand._

_As for now, I'll keep it to myself. Search for answers as I always do. Stay up into the night and dig away – nocturnal creature that I am._

_True to the form._

_My dirty little secret. _

_It sounds wrong. _

_But it really isn't. _

The End

A/N: That's all folks! Hope you enjoyed it. I actually, really, truly, loved writing this story. I have been wanting to turn someone into a were-wolf for quite some time now. Then Night Stalker comes along and gives me the means. This story was inspired by the first episode, toward the end where we see that Kolchak also has the mark. It got me thinking 'hey, maybe he's a were-wolf!' So I toyed with the idea a bit and came up with this story.

I'm contemplating a sequel. What do you (the readers) think? A sequel or left as it is? I have a basic idea of what I might do, but I probably wouldn't get to it for a while. Please let me know if the sequel idea sounds cool.

TTFN -Ta-Ta for Now!


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